State of Conspiracy
by LadyofDodge
Summary: Despite everything he had been through, despite the unthinkable scene that greeted his long-overdue return, he breathed out a chuckle. He had never been able to fool Kitty Russell, not about anything. But the laugh died just past his lips as she moaned feebly. Several readers have asked that this story be posted on this site, so here it is.
1. Chapter 1

**STATE OF CONSPIRACY**

**by **

**Alli Ance**

**_Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power. Abraham Lincoln_**

**Part One**

**Dodge City – May 1892**

**NOTE: I want to make it perfectly clear that I (LadyofDodge) am not the only author of this story. It grew out of a late night of round robin e-mails among five friends. One person started it with a short paragraph, someone else added the next, etc, etc, etc. At the end of the evening, we realized we had the beginnings of an actual fan fic story. That was the easy part! From there we divided it into sections, each person writing the part(s) she felt would best match her writing style, interests and strengths, and, a few months later, "State of Conspiracy" by Alli Ance was born. It was previously posted on a private site, but this is its "public debut."**

**xxx**

Matt approached as quietly as he could, almost tiptoeing in his big boots. The room was still – too still. There was the faintest whisper of sound as he neared the bed – the quiet exhalation of the woman who lay there, but even that seemed tenuous – as tenuous as her grasp on life. Under his deep prairie tan, Matt paled. Whatever he had expected, this was worse than anything he had imagined. Without being aware of it, he went to his knees beside the bed. He reached for her hand on the counterpane. It felt as if he were holding a bird in his thick, calloused palm - the flesh a mere covering for the brittle bones it encased.

"What…" His voice broke, and he licked his lips, trying again. "What – happened to her?"

There were tears in Doc's voice. "We don't know. Festus found her about three days ago and brought her into Dodge. Her horse had turned up at the stables, and Festus went out looking for her. When he finally found her, she'd been missing almost a week."

"Why didn't you let me know?"

Doc half turned and stared out the window. "We – we thought you had enough to worry about – and there was nothing you could have done."

"I could have come back and looked for her," Matt burst out, and then fell silent. Both of them knew that couldn't have happened. He buried his head against the bed for a moment. Then he looked back up at Doc. "Di – Did she tell Festus what…"

"Matt, she hasn't been conscious since he found her." Doc sighed. "I'll leave you two alone for a bit. Call me if – if anything changes." He turned to leave and then dragged the ancient high-backed armchair closer to the bed. He pushed the frayed pillow back into place on the seat. "Easier on your knees," he said gruffly and closed the door firmly behind him.

Matt rose painfully and seated himself, staring at the frail woman in the bed. The crocheted yoke of her nightgown had slipped off one thin shoulder, and he gently traced the pattern of the lace with a blunt finger. He recognized the gown and even remembered the last time he had seen Kitty wearing it. The full, nearly-translucent fabric attached to the yoke had swirled around her slender body, and he had kissed her warm skin through the crocheted lace. Now, the soft peach color stood out in stark contrast to the waxy, greenish cast to her skin, and her body no longer seemed slender, but emaciated.

He leaned over and kissed her shoulder, and then he stroked her hair. "Oh, Kitty, what happened? Who did this to you?" He could feel the throb of her pulse, and it seemed to falter as he sat there. Once more he said, "Kitty, I'm here. Please, honey, don't – don't leave me." He held onto her hand, afraid of crushing it in his. Long moments passed, and then he heard her voice – the merest whisper of her voice.

"Matt…" she said, so softly he thought at first he had imagined it. "Matt? What – what happened… in Topeka ?"

He drew a harsh breath. "Nothing important. Really," he told her, forcing a sliver of cheer into his voice. "Everything's fine." A lie, of course.

Another half minute passed before she spoke again. "I don't – believe you."

Despite everything he had been through, despite the unthinkable scene that greeted his long-overdue return, he breathed out a chuckle. He had never been able to fool Kitty Russell, not about anything. But the laugh died just past his lips as she moaned feebly.

"Kitty?" he asked, stretching out his hand to cradle her cheek, no longer soft and smooth, but hard and angular, almost skin on bone.

"Tried – to – wait – for – you," she murmured, eyes pinched shut from her pain.

Gingerly, he caressed her face, heart aching at his own impotence to help her. "Shh. It's going to be okay, Kitty. I'm here."

"I – know. Now I can – "

Her head lolled on the pillow, and her hand slipped in his grasp as the ravaged body relaxed with a rattling sigh.

Sudden, sickening realization slammed into him. "No!" he cried out, standing so quickly that the chair Doc had pushed under him crashed backwards. "Kitty!"

The lawman's huge hands grasped Kitty's thin shoulders, and he shook her. Never before in his life had he touched her in anger, but he was furious with her now, furious and frantic at the thought that she would leave him. As a sudden wild rage washed over him, his strong fingers dug into her tender flesh, and he shook the love of his life with a vehemence he had no idea he possessed. "Damn it, no, Kitty. No! Don't leave me. No!"

The sounds of the chair crashing and Matt's gut-wrenching roar sent the old physician back into the room with amazing speed to see the younger man, his initial fury spent, drop Kitty's limp body back against the bed and bury his face in her neck, broad shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Doc wasn't close enough to hear the whispered, "Remember our someday. Please, Kitty, try for me...for our someday." But he did see a frail hand, colorless as the sheet on which it lay, twitch slightly.

"Move back," Doc ordered as he stood over the bed and felt for a pulse beneath the translucent skin of her thin wrist. There was a flutter, so feeble he had to feel three times to reassure himself it was really there.

"Move or I'll move you," he said again and shoved hard at Matt's shoulder, effectively edging him aside.

"She...she's gone," Matt said as he pushed numbly up from the bed.

Doc didn't reply, but placed the diaphragm of his stethoscope against her chest. "Lift her up for me, so I can listen to her back."

Matt complied, cradling her limp form against his chest while Doc listened again and again to the faint, yet reassuring soft whoosh of air struggling painfully through Kitty's tortured lungs.

He unhooked the stethoscope from his ears and ordered, "Put her down and let her rest a minute."

"Doc...?"

"You shook her, didn't you?"

"Doc, I didn't..."

"No need to deny it - those red marks on her shoulders could only be from your thumbs, same as the ones on her back are from your fingers. Want to tell me what happened?"

"Doc, I...I didn't mean...but she stopped breathing, and then her head fell to the side. God knows I've seen that often enough to know what it means."

"And you got mad at her, didn't you...and you shook her?"

The big lawman looked chagrined. "Yes."

Doc's weary old eyes looked up at his dearest friend. "I'm not positive, but I think you may have saved her life. That shaking gave her heart the jolt it needed." Once again, he reached for Kitty's wrist and then offered Matt the faintest of smiles. "Her pulse is awfully weak, but the rhythm's fairly steady right now. She's not out of the woods yet, son, but I think she just might make it."

Matt righted the chair and sank weakly into it.

**xxx**

The pale glow of early morning washed gently through the window panes of Doc's office, casting soft shadows across Kitty Russell's slight frame, the heavy quilt almost swallowing her beneath it. She barely made a rise in the covers, and Matt wondered how much strength she had left to fight.

Two days had passed since he literally shook the life back into her, but the distraught lawman had not budged from the chair beside her bed. Night and day he sat by her side, tracing her fingers with a tenderness that belied his great physical power. Hour after hour he whispered words of love, of strength. Now he held one frail hand against his cheek, his eyes bleary and red-rimmed, jaw rough with a half-grown beard, bugger-red shirt rumpled and still sooty from the train.

She had not stirred, had not given him more than a thin whimper since her last heartbreaking words. _Now I can – _

He didn't want to think about what she meant, couldn't bear to consider that she had been holding on just to make sure he returned safely, wouldn't accept that she'd just let go and leave him. Doc had told him he thought she was going to be all right, but he had seen the furrowed gray brow, heard the sighs each time the physician examined her. And each time his heart clenched in fear, an emotion that was almost foreign to Matt Dillon - except when it came to Kitty Russell's fate.

He was not a praying man, at least not in any kind of organized fashion, but he and the Almighty had shared words on occasion, and Matt was not so convinced of his own omnipotence that he didn't believe there was some benefit in invoking the power of God.

Still cradling her hand against his jaw, he closed his eyes and whispered, voice desolate with fatigue and anguish. "Please. I need her. Please."

Less than a minute after his wrenching plea, the cold fingers touching his cheek twitched once, then twice, then spread in a slight caress. His eyes flew open, and he found himself staring into hers, glazed and dull, but aware.

"Kitty?" he groaned, emotion choking him.

A smile hinted at her lips for only a moment. "Don't take – this – wrong, Cowboy," she managed. "But you – look like – you've been – rode hard and – put up – wet."

Her tone was thin, her breath labored, but to him it sounded as sweet as the song of an angel.

`Rode hard and put up wet' just about described the last two months, he thought wryly. Ever since Archer Romans had ridden into Dodge, things had been going steadily to hell.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**STATE OF CONSPIRACY**

**Part Two**

**Dodge – March 1892**

**{Two Months Earlier}**

**Note: Many thanks to all who left comments for the first chapter. Whether I was able to PM you or not, your kind words are much appreciated. ****Also, since MAHC "outed" herself in one of the comments, you now know that she is another of the five friends who comprise Alli Ance. And, yes, we all are still good friends! I invite the other three to chime in at any time.**

**xxx**

_The third Saturday in March was the first nearly warm day in months – a harbinger of a spring that was fighting to make its presence known after a bitter winter marked by more snow than even the old-timers could remember in half a century. Folks crowded the streets of Dodge, some of them venturing off the wind-scoured prairies for the first time since December. With the promise of a new growing season, farmers were looking for early seeds, and their wives were replenishing badly depleted supplies. Released from school and chores, the children roamed the streets looking for mischief. _

_The __Long Branch__ was doing the best business since the last meeting of the Cattlemen's Association__, __and Matt waded through throngs of men eager to ogle the pretty girls and toast the weather with a beer or three. His object of interest, as always, was the beautiful woman standing behind the bar with Sam, pulling beers and pouring whiskies so fast their hands were blurs. He grinned, knowing that Kitty, who had been worried about her bank balance lately, was enjoying every rowdy yell for more beer._

_"Want me to settle 'em down and make 'em behave proper?" he offered with a wink and was rewarded with a brilliant smile and Kitty's rich laugh._

_"Don't do me any favors, Cowboy," she said. "Let 'em drink their fill. It's been a long winter – for all of us." She filled half a dozen beer mugs and set them up on a tray. "Let me load another tray, and then I'll take a five minute break. You want one while you're waiting?"_

_"Nah, I'll wait for you." Matt made his way over to a vacant table in the back corner – all that was available. It took Kitty nearly another ten minutes before she crossed the room toward him, a mug of beer in either hand. Half a dozen wranglers and sod busters stopped her on the way, but eventually she arrived at his table. With a sigh she sank down into the chair he pulled out for her._

_"My poor feet," she groaned. _

_"Want me to rub them for you?"_

_"Later." They exchanged smiles, knowing that rubbing her feet wasn't all that would come later._

_Kitty paused, her mug half way to her mouth. "Well, that's a new face. Wonder who he is?"_

_Matt followed her gaze to the whipcord-thin man standing just inside the swinging doors of the saloon. His clothing was dark and dusty, as if he'd been riding for some distance. He held his hat in one hand, and his stance was casual, but as he turned toward the bar, Matt sat up straight. Only a few men wore their guns turned in the holsters the way this fellow did. _

_"Wait here, Kitty. That's Archer Romans."_

_Matt was only vaguely aware of the revelers' smiles turning to curious stares as he cut a swath through them on his way to Romans. The rawboned man, without turning his head, held the shot glass to his mouth and murmured, "Well, Marshal Dillon, you're just the man I came to see."_

_"That so?"_

_"Yep," he said, draining his whiskey. "How 'bout you and me finish this little talk outside. I don't like crowds."_

_"Let's go."_

_Romans set his glass on the bar, then turned to walk toward the door. Without giving Kitty a glance, the lawman followed._

**x**_  
_

Kitty's weak voice drew Matt from his memory of Archer Romans' arrival in Dodge two months earlier. He blinked and gave her a slight smile. "I'm sorry, Kitty, what did you say?"

"I said you need... sleep...in.. .real bed." She paused to take another painful breath.

"I'm fine, Kitty. There'll be time for sleep in a real bed when you're well again. In fact, we'll both sleep in that real bed." He forced a smile to his lips and realized as he did so that it was as much for his sake as for hers.

Her answering smile was wobbly, but it was there. "Sure, we'll... sleep." She took another tremulous breath and wet her lips. "Tell me about Topeka."

Releasing her hand, Matt began to fuss with the covers, pulling them higher, as if tucking in a small child. "Not much to tell, Kitty. Not important."

He sat gently down on the edge of the bed beside her. Reclaiming her hand and caressing the soft, cool flesh, he brought it to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss on the bruised skin. "I need to know what happened to you, Kitty. Are you up to telling me?"

Kitty shuddered, and he almost told her to wait till she felt better, but he knew he couldn't. He had to know what had happened to her. He had to track down the men who had reduced her to this gaunt victim. He had to make them pay.

"You… should have let me… go to Topeka." She smiled wearily. It was an old argument. She'd wanted to go with him and he, leery of what awaited him, had refused. "So worried… couldn't sleep… went – riding." She paused, and he thought she had fallen asleep, but after a moment she went on, her voice rough with remembrance. "Didn't know… they'd been watching – waiting… I was about forty minutes out from Dodge when they… surrounded me, but – after last time, I swore… I broke free… they chased me, but I was riding for my life." She broke off with a wheezy cough that brought Doc in from the next room.

"Enough, Matt. Leave her alone. Do you want to kill her?" But the doctor's voice broke off abruptly when Dillon turned, and the old physician saw the raw guilt in those anguished eyes.

"Hush, Curly," Kitty admonished gently, still managing to sound formidable even from a sickbed. "I want – I need to tell him. You, too."

"Why don't you rest first?" Matt urged.

"I'd rather – get it out." Doc poured some water, and she sipped it as Matt cradled her wasted body in his arms. She swallowed hard and went on. "Don't know… how long… seemed like forever, but… I just gave Strawberry her head, and we ran – flat out. Somehow we found our way into the foothills. She was pretty winded by then, but it was full dark, and they were dropping back. I thought if we could just find a side canyon I could hide… Then she shied, and I went right over her head – and down the face of a cliff. I did something to my shoulder, but… I blacked out for a while, too."

She took another sip of water, and Matt could see she was tiring badly. As much as he wanted to hear the rest of the story, he said, "Kitty, you need to get some rest. You can finish this when…"

She shook her head. "When – I came to, I could hear them – up top, milling around and peering down. It was too dark for them to try to climb down and after a while when it got quiet, I managed to crawl under some rocks and wrap my skirt up around me, so I blended in. I even slept – some."

Matt looked at Doc. "What's wrong with her shoulder?"

"Dislocated. I put it back in place while she was still unconscious. I'm sure it hurt like the devil, but she was lucky she didn't bust her head wide open from what Festus said about where he found her." He paused, looking at his patient. "The contusions and pneumonia and are bad enough. She was dehydrated and malnourished." Doc shook his head. "It's a wonder she made it at all."

Kitty continued, "When it got light, they looked for me. One of them even started to climb down, but some of the rocks started to slide under him, and he made the others pull him back up."

_She remembered their voices as the rocks pelted her. Thank God the rocky outcropping she was hiding beneath protected her from the worst of the boulders, but she knew that her situation was precarious at best._

_"Git yoreself back down there, Trace. Miz Mabel is gonna wanna know what happened to that there redhead."_

_"You do it then. I like to near got my head knocked off by them fallin' rocks. She musta got away in the night. Ain't no sign of her now."_

_"Well, how?" The third man spoke up._

_"Dunno, but there ain't hide nor hair a her now. That red hair is hard to miss, y'know."_

_"Miz Mabel ain't gonna like it," one of the others cautioned._

_"She's the one signed us up with that devil in Topeka. Kidnappin' women." He spat. "Leastways when we was runnin' with her brother, we was robbin' banks. This ain't men's work."_

_"Pays good, __though."_

_"Yeah. You seen the money yet?" Trace spat again. "Thought not. And now the redhead's gone. I'm thinkin' our payday's a long way off."_

"They went away then, and I tried to move farther away, but I kept slipping and falling on the rocks. My shoulder hurt like fire, and I was feeling kind of – of disoriented. "

"Shock," Doc diagnosed.

Matt tightened his arm around her and cradled her head on his shoulder. Every word she spoke hurt him far worse than if it had actually happened to him. "Go on," he whispered.

She swallowed again and took another sip of water. "I don't know how far I got, but the sun was starting to go down when I slipped and fell again – down into this kind of crevice in the rocks. It widened out a little at the bottom. I hit my head, and I don't remember much about the rest. I know they came back, but when I didn't move, they thought I was dead…

_"See, Miz Mabel. I toldja she was a goner." _

_"Yeah, I guess you was right after all. No use wasting time on a corpse." Pebbles slid under boots as someone neared the edge and looked over__. __"Pity. Dead woman ain't gonna give him no leverage. Oh, well, no use cryin' over spilt blood."_

_"I don't want Dillon to know I had anything to do with his woman being dead," Trace cautioned. _

_"Don't worry none about Dillon. Washburn's gonna see that ol' lawman hanging high afore he's done._ _We're gonna say she disappeared, ain't got no idea where she is_. _Come on boys."_

_And then the blessed sound of horses being ridden hard. Away._

"It rained. I remember being cold and wet. There was some rainwater in a little rock pool that I could just reach to drink, but mostly I don't recall much about the next few days, Matt."

_And what she did remember she wasn't going to tell him with Doc in the room. Matt had been there, with her, in her dreams, keeping her warm, making love to her, preventing her from giving up…_

"I have no idea how Festus found her. I do know he said it took him the better part of a day just to get down to her and get her back up. He thought he'd killed her just bringing her up the face of the cliff," Doc said, eyeing his patient, "and at first I thought he was right."

"Hard to keep a good – or maybe not so good – woman down," Kitty managed. "Think I'll go to sleep now, Matt."

"Just another minute. How many men were there?"

"Three. Matt…I…I really…"

Doc stepped to the bed. "That's enough, Matt, she's exhausted. The rest can wait until tomorrow."

In spite of the fact that he cradled his only witness in his arms and brushed his lips against her brow, the lawman encroached on the lover, and he said gently, "I know you're tired, Kitty, but I need you to think… they were atop that cliff for a long time. They must have talked to each other. Did you hear anything… names… people… places… anything? It's important, Kitty."

"Trace… one was… Trace…"

Her head fell forward against his shoulder, and his body tensed in panic. "Kitty!"

Doc glared at the lawman and once again pressed his gnarled fingers against Kitty's pulse.

"I'm all right... just... so very... tired," she mumbled against the rough sleeve of Matt's shirt. She closed her eyes and appeared to doze off.

"You bother her again, and I'll throw you out of here. Put her down. She needs to rest," Doc groused as he headed for the door. Then he paused in the doorway, his tone gentler. "And it wouldn't hurt you to do the same."

No sooner had the door clicked shut than Kitty tugged at Matt's sleeve. He leaned over her. "What is it?"

"Hold me while I sleep?"

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here, holding your hand… promise."

She shook her head. "Not what... I mean. Lie down... next to me... really hold... me."

"Kitty, I... Doc'll have my hide," he protested.

"Who you more...afraid of... Doc or me?" she countered with a hint of the old spunk that was decidedly Kitty.

Even as he pushed out a sigh, he carefully straightened the quilt over her slight form. Then he rounded the foot of the narrow bed and gingerly lowered his big frame down on top of the quilt. He turned onto his side, reached out one long arm and slowly, cautiously, drew her battered body against his own. She winced slightly and then nestled against his chest, her eyes closing in sleep even as his lips brushed against the purplish-yellow bruises his strong fingers had left on her shoulders. "I'm so sorry, honey, so very sorry."

Several hours later, with the first light of early morning filtering through the window, Doc quietly opened the bedroom door to check on his patient. He wasn't particularly surprised to see the giant lawman deep in the first real sleep he had known in weeks, his arms wrapped protectively around the frail redhead cuddled peacefully against his chest. Smiling gently at the lovers, he swiped his hand across his mustache, tip-toed backwards through the door and closed it softly after him.

**Topeka**** – February 1892**

**{Three Months Earlier}**

The fleshy man edged closer to the mirror and ran his hands over his thinning black hair. Only he knew the importance of looking his best today. Reaching for his pocket watch atop his dresser, he slid his fingernail along the nearly invisible crack to pry open the lid. It was official – the governor was on the nine o'clock train bound for Washington, and Lieutenant Governor Addley Washburn was the most powerful man in the state of Kansas. It was time, he thought, time everyone recognized his worth. He was tired of being belittled and laughed at while they praised a man who was nothing more than a two-bit lawman in a town on the other side of the state.

Washburn was sick to death of hearing Dillon's praises sung by Governor James Harvey and the Kansas lawmakers. "Incorruptible." "The lawman's lawman." "The most respected man in Kansas." Washburn's lip curled. Dillon was a man, nothing more, nothing less. Once his badge was taken from him and his reputation was in tatters, Dillon would find himself an outcast. No more would he be held up as a paragon of justice. And when the idol had fallen, another would have to take his place. Addley Washburn intended to be that man. _He_ would be the most respected man in Kansas, not some prairie marshal.

Power _and_ respect.

Adrenaline shot through Washburn's body, immediately making him hard. A few gentle strokes down the front of his trousers enhanced his condition, and he laughed aloud on his way to the washroom, anticipating the familiar task at hand.

Returning to the dresser a few minutes later, he tucked the watch in his vest pocket, admiring his reflection once more. He fancied himself a lady's man, and now that he would be running the state in the governor's absence for the next few weeks, he had no doubt women would find him irresistible. Women loved powerful men, and he loved women.

And power.

Washburn slipped his arms in his overcoat, then gave his silk vest a sharp tug. After one more glance in the mirror, he grabbed his leather satchel and walked into the dark, narrow hallway outside his bedroom. He compared his small house to the governor's mansion only two miles away. It might as well have been two hundred. Most days he found it impossible even to be civil to Harvey. But there were other ways of gaining power. He was about to make a name for himself and show all the naysayers just how wrong they had always been about Addley Washburn. He hurried into the official carriage for the ride to the Capitol.

"Fletcher, I trust the governor made his train?" Washburn said to the driver.

"Yes, sir. Pulled out about thirty minutes ago. Took him to the station m'self."

A pleased look crossed the lieutenant governor's face. He glanced at the houses they passed along the first few blocks, absently cradling his satchel on his lap and thinking about his impending meeting with Archer Romans at the Saratoga Hotel.

The mere thought of pitting the bounty hunter against the powerful U.S. Marshal in Dodge rekindled Washburn's primal urges. "Let me out right here, Fletcher. I want to walk the rest of the way."

The carriage pulled to an abrupt halt, sending the satchel onto the floor. Several stacks of money tumbled from the open case, and the lieutenant governor hurriedly scooped them back inside as Fletcher jumped down from his spring seat in the rear.

"Sorry, sir. New horse hasn't gotten used to..."

"Damn you to hell!" Washburn screamed in anger. He secured the expensive brass lock on his valise and exited the carriage in a rage.

"When you get back, gather your personal items and get out. You're fired, Fletcher."

"But sir, I...I've worked...my father worked as a driver and his father...I have a wife and four..."

"Do you think I care?" Washburn asked, breathing hard. "Do as I say, you imbecile. You're fired." He spun, sending his long overcoat billowing behind him.

The driver stood staring as the dark figure disappeared around the corner.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**STATE OF CONSPIRACY**

**Part Three**

**Dodge – May 1892**

Kitty leaned back a bit from Matt's chest, content to watch him sleep. All night long she had felt the tension in his muscles as he held her, and now she could see the clenched jaw, the sensuous lips pressed tight, deep worry lines bracketing his mouth. She had to appear better today—for his sake. When he stirred, she summoned up all of her strength and flashed him a gentle grin. "Morning, sleepyhead."

"Hmmm, g'morning to you, too." He lifted her fingers to his lips, anger and guilt coursing through his body once again as he saw the broken nails and kissed the torn flesh. What kind of hell must she have gone through out there? "Sorry I slept so late...how do you feel?"

"Verging on human, I do believe."

He gave her a relieved smile. "That's what I like to hear. Doc been in?"

She shook her head. "I haven't seen him, but there's a sheet of paper under the door. Maybe you should take a look."

Matt stretched his back and padded across the floor. He glanced at the paper and said, "Doc's gone out to the Kurtz farm...says he'll stop at the Graham's on the way back, so he'll be gone `til sometime this afternoon." He smiled. "Hey, that's a good sign."

"What do you mean?"

"It means he thinks you've improved enough to leave you alone with me. You know he'd never do that if he thought you were still in danger."

She swallowed a cough. "You know what else means I'm doing better?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm hungry...and you probably are, too. How 'bout you go over to Delmonico's and get us some breakfast?"

Matt frowned doubtfully.

To distract him, Kitty added quickly, "Oh, and, Matt, I remembered the other name I heard. It was Washington or Wash...Wash...something. I couldn't hear all that clearly. Whoever it was, he wasn't with them...more like they were talking _about_ him. And Mabel... I think she was with them when they came back. Now, scoot, go get us something to eat."

Matt hesitated. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"I'll be fine, Matt. It'll only take ten minutes-almost not long enough for me to miss you... at least not too much."

"Well, okay." With a mock frown he added, "But you stay put."

"Yes, sir!" She lifted her hand in a weak attempt at a salute.

The minute the door closed behind him, Kitty dropped back against the pillow, exhausted. She was breathing easier by the time he returned even though he was sooner than she expected.

"Festus was there," he said. He's going to bring the tray over when it's ready. He's anxious to see you anyway."

"I look terrible, Matt. I'll scare the whiskers right off him," she protested.

"I have a funny feeling you're going to look every bit as beautiful to him as you do to me." He brushed strands of hair from her face and helped her to sit up against the pillows.

**x**

"Matthew...Miz Kitty...you in there?"

Matt opened the bedroom door for his deputy.

Festus put the tray down on the chair and looked at Kitty. "Gollee bill, Miz Kitty, iffen you ain't a sight for these ol' eyeballs." He leaned in as if to kiss her cheek, but hesitated when she coughed slightly.

She smiled encouragingly. "Come here." She reached her hand up and caressed his scraggly face, guiding his cheek against her lips as she did so. "How can I ever thank you, my friend? I'd be buzzard bait out there in the foothills if it weren't for you."

Embarrassed, the hillman replied, "Foot, Miz Kitty. It wadn't nothin.' Couldn't never face ol' Matthew agin iffen I didn't try ta find ya. I'm jist glad I got to ya in time. Ruth and me's mighty sorry we had to hurt ya though, a-bringing ya up the face of that thar cliff."

"It's all right, Festus. Every bump against those rocks was a bump closer to home. Now, why don't you go over to the Long Branch and tell Sam I said to draw you the biggest, coldest beer he has." She paused for a shallow breath. "And ask Polly or Sue to come over in about an hour with my hairbrush, a night...oh, just tell her I want to get cleaned up. She'll know what to bring. And tell Sam to heat some bath water, too."

"Yes, ma'am, I'll do 'er. And I'm much obliged fer the beer."

She shook her head. "I'm the one who's much obliged, Festus."

"And I am, too," Matt added as he shook the deputy's hand and closed the door behind him. Then he uncovered the breakfast tray and proceeded to feed her tiny bites of scrambled eggs and toast.

"I can feed myself, Matt. Eat your own food while it's still hot."

"It'll hurt your shoulder to move it back and forth so much," he answered stubbornly. "I can feed you and me both."

By the time they had finished eating, Sue arrived with the requested items. Kitty motioned Matt over to the bed and whispered, "I want you to leave Sue and me alone for a while. Go over to my room and take a hot bath, shave, get some more sleep." She paused, and he started to protest, but she cut him off. "When you come back, we'll both feel and look like new people. And then, Cowboy, you're going to tell me what happened in Topeka."

**XXX**

Alone in Kitty's room, Matt undressed and climbed into the big tub, willing the warm water to relax him. He began to go over what Kitty had said about the men who chased her. He went through the names she'd been able to give him. Trace… and Mabel… No gang that he knew… Suddenly he sat up, water sloshing over his torso.

Kitty had heard a name like Washington. What if it wasn't Washington, but – Damn! The puzzle pieces began to slam into place, each one representing part of a cold, calculating plan by a man on a maniacal power trip. Kitty wanted to know what had happened in Topeka, but Matt realized he was only beginning to understand it himself. Leaning back, he allowed his mind to replay what had begun the day Archer Romans rode into Dodge.

_When Romans insisted their conversation be private, Matt had followed him out of the Long Branch. Dillon had little patience with the gunslinger; his reputation for riding just below legal was something __Matt was all too familiar with._

_"What's your business here, Romans?" Matt asked, looming over him. _

_Unfazed, Romans took a step forward to bring himself even closer to the scowling marshal. "After a wanted man, of course. Thought you knew my business, Dillon."_

_"Wanted men are my business, and I don't welcome bounty hunters in Dodge." Matt stood firm, placing his thumbs in his gun belt._

_A slight smile parted the thin lips of the bounty hunter __as he took a step back and leaned against the hitching post. "Was a time I'd a believed that, Marshal. But it appears you're getting soft in your old age." He took a flyer out of his vest pocket and handed it to Dillon. "Scott Coltrane, wanted for the murder of Randy `Kid' Chama."_

_Matt's mind reeled. Coltrane, known as "The Widowmaker," was__ a gunslinger who had come to Dodge to shed his old reputation and live peacefully as a farmer. Trouble had followed when gunfighters sought to make names for themselves by taking him down. After being convinced of Coltrane's sincerity, Matt had helped him fake his own death and be reborn __under__ the name William Tyler._

_"I can tell by the look on your face, you remember him," Romans sneered. "Word is Coltrane is alive and well and living `round Dodge. Seems odd that a man of the law would help a gunslinger escape justice." Each word was coated with smugness. "You owe him something, Dillon?" _

_Matt held Romans' gaze for a beat, then crumpled the flyer into the other man's chest. "Coltrane's been dead for a while now. Wasn't wanted when he was alive. You have no business here in Dodge."_

_With a cocky grin planted on his face, Romans patted the gun belt hung on his hips and caressed the butts of his reversed guns. "That's where you're wrong, Marshal. There are those that say he ain't dead. The State of Kansas wants Coltrane, and I aim to get him."_

**x**

_The next morning, Matt rode out to see William Tyler, previously known as Scott Coltrane. It was a trip he had enjoyed making in the past, but not today. Tyler, who finally was able to cure the sickness in his soul, was not as lucky at curing the sickness in his heart, which was slowly robbing him of strength and breath. In the time since his "death" he had become the father of a young son, Adam, and his wife, Teresa, devotedly looked after both of them. _

_After greeting Matt, Tyler walked slowly to a rocking chair by the fireplace. Waving his hand toward the small settee opposite him, he wordlessly invited the lawman to sit. "Good to see you Matt, though a little sooner than I'd expected."_

_Matt, arms resting on his thighs, turned his Stetson in his hands. "We've got some trouble, Coltrane. Bounty hunter by the name of Archer Romans is looking for you. Has a wanted poster on you for the murder of Kid Chama."_

_A brief expression of shock registered on Coltrane's face, but he quickly recovered. "Coltrane's dead, Matt. You saw to that. But what I can tell ya is, when he was alive, he never killed a man illegally. Kid Chama's no exception."_

_"Yeah, I know, but I can't guarantee Romans won't find his way to William Tyler."_

_"Only two people saw Chama gunned, me and Dad Goodpastor. Was self defense, pure and simple. He called me out."_

_"Maybe so," Matt sighed, "but someone has issued a warrant. Maybe you ought to think of heading out for while, till I can figure this out."_

_Coltrane shook his head slowly __and looked around at the simple, but comfortable surroundings. "Can't do that Matt. Didn't want to run then, don't want to now."_

_Teresa stood silently by the cook stove listening to the men's exchange. Wordlessly, she came to Scott and placed his son in his arms. Holding the child close to his chest, Scott patted the infant's back and continued, "I'm too sick to travel, and I ain't gonna run because some man might come looking for me. I've done nothing wrong, Matt, and my family needs a place to call home."_

_Matt rose, resigned to the fact that Scott wouldn't budge. He hadn't really expected him to; he had come to know the character of the reformed gunslinger well over the last several months. "Suit yourself, but stay alert. I don't know how much Romans really knows and how much is just fishing. I'll stop back in a couple days."_

_Matt gently rubbed his hand over the infant's downy hair, bade goodbye to Teresa and gave Coltrane one last imploring look, then returned to town to try to find out more about Archer Romans' quest._

**x**

_It hadn't taken long to play out. Matt quickly received an answer to his telegram, not from the governor as he expected, but from the lieutenant governor's staff. Addley Washburn had indeed authorized a warrant __for __Scott Coltrane, based on information that he had murdered Randy "Kid" Chama. Their informant believed that Coltrane was alive and living in the area of Dodge City, Kansas._

_Matt found it hard to believe that the State of Kansas suddenly would have an interest in a matter that, to the best of its knowledge, had been resolved in the streets of Dodge City many months ago. A few more telegrams to trusted friends and law officials confirmed that not only had Lieutenant Governor Washburn been seen in the company of Archer Romans, but Dad Goodpaster had recently been in Topeka and left a richer man than he had come. Nothing concrete could be proven, but the sheriff in Topeka was growing increasingly concerned by the gossip he was hearing about Addley Washburn's connections._

_Matt had wondered if the staging of the gunslinger's death would come back to haunt him. As carefully planned as it was, someone had to have recognized Coltrane and started talking. __When Dad Goodpastor heard the rumors he squealed long enough and loud enough to get someone's attention. _

_Dillon's instincts screamed that Scott, Teresa and the baby were no longer safe, and no matter how hard-headed Coltrane was, it was time for the family to move on. Matt stuffed the telegrams in his vest pocket, stopped at the bank, withdrew some money and again headed out to the Coltrane homestead._

_He was too late. When he reined in by the porch, Romans' horse was already tethered._

_Matt dismounted quietly and drew his pistol, slowly making his way along the porch. Romans' voice boomed from the doorway. "Come on in, Dillon. We saved ya a seat."_

_Matt slammed his back against the outer wall by the door. "Romans, come on out, we need to talk."_

_The labored, breathy voice of Scott Coltrane came next. "He's got Teresa and the baby, Matt. I've been hit."_

_Dillon waited a beat, willing a better option than surrender to come to him. He knew the woman and child were in danger. He had no choice. "I'm coming in, gun's holstered."_

_"I'm not a fool, Dillon," Romans scoffed. "Throw the gun down, then come in with hands up."_

_Matt did as he was instructed. Slowly walking through the narrow doorway, he saw Scott lying against the fireplace hearth, a bullet hole in his right shoulder. Across from him stood Archer Romans holding the infant, one large hand and forearm across the baby's chest, his other hand holding a gun to the head of Teresa Coltrane._

_"Let the woman and child go, Romans, they've done nothing," Dillon ground out._

_"Aiding and abetting a criminal is a crime, Dillon. Surely you still have some grasp of the law. I want to take Coltrane in alive, best proof I could have that you skirted your duties."_

_"No one skirted anything. The Tylers are peaceable folk. They haven't hurt anyone. Now put the gun down and walk away, Romans." Matt eyed the gunslinger, seeking some kind of advantage. _

_An unlikely ally provided the distraction he needed. Young Adam, apparently not happy with all the jostling, took that opportune moment to vomit, covering Archer Romans' hand in the odorous white emesis. "What the hell…?" As Romans dropped the baby, Teresa lurched from his hold to break the child's fall, and Coltrane tossed the discarded pistol to Dillon, all in the blink of an eye._

_Matt and Romans stood with guns leveled at each other. Seconds passed while neither man flinched nor spoke. Then Romans' eye twitched and his left hand flexed. Matt crouched and shot the instant Romans pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed through Matt's Stetson, knocking it to the ground. Romans' eyes widened and he lurched forward, then crumpled to the floor, a crimson stain blooming from the hole in his chest._

TBC

**Note to SuzyQ: Yes, I am the Nellie Pearl of the Matt and Kitty videos, and, yes, "Always on My Mind" has been on my list of songs for a very long time. Maybe one of these days...**


	4. Chapter 4

**STATE OF CONSPIRACY**

**Part Four**

**Dodge – May 1892**

Sue finished sponging the lilac scented soap from Kitty's gaunt body. "…and we need to fatten you up. All your clothes are going to be too big – now that's a problem I should have." Realizing what she had said, Sue flushed. "Oh, Kitty, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't." Kitty sat up carefully, enabling Sue to dry her off and to drop a pale blue nightgown over her head. The silky fabric slid easily down her body, but her battered ribs protested violently at the slight movement. "And believe me, next time I choose to shed a few pounds, I'm going to find a less painful way to do it." Not wishing to dwell on the subject, Kitty quickly continued, "Ah, that's better... it's lovely to feel clean again. Think you're brave enough to tackle this hair? I haven't even dared look in a mirror, but I must be a horrifying sight."

Sue demurred. "Well, I will say I've seen you looking better, but I notice you haven't scared a certain big lawman away." She winked and continued to talk as she shook talcum powder onto the tortoise shell hairbrush and stroked it through Kitty's tangled red mane in an effort to remove some of the dirt and grime. "We've barely seen him around town since the night he came back from Topeka."

Kitty smiled. "Speaking of lawmen, I seem to recall that Marshal Jonathan Haig was spending a lot of time at the Long Branch. Fill me in, Sue... what have I missed?"

Kitty watched Sue blush again at the thought of the handsome silver-haired lawman who had been sent from Wichita to perform the duties of interim marshal for the territory while Matt was away. "Oh, he's still around," she answered nonchalantly, but her mouth stretched into a grin as she added, "and the town's been really quiet, so he's had a lot of free time. In fact, we're planning a picnic out to Spring Creek if this weather holds...and if we can both get away, of course."

"Good for you, Sue. Enjoy whatever time you can spend together." Kitty's voice was soft, almost wistful, remembering the times she had spent with Matt at that very creek, and she was silent for several long minutes, lost in the nostalgia of more pleasant times.

She noticed Sue was quiet, too, as her fingers worked their way through Kitty's hair, twisting a curl here, tucking a strand there. Finally Kitty asked, "So, how's the hair coming?" The last words came out on a wheezy cough.

"Almost finished. You want the blue or the cream?" Sue held up two lengths of ribbon as Kitty coughed again. "You all right?"

Kitty nodded and glanced down at the gown she was wearing. "Umm, I think the blue is a close match. Let's do that one." She coughed again, harder this time, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Then blue it is." Sue gathered the freshly brushed hair into a loose ponytail at the nape of Kitty's neck. "I was going to work on your nails, too, but I think you've had enough for one day." She gathered the toiletries and turned away to shake out the powder-flecked towel that had been draped around Kitty's shoulders, adding, "Both Doc and the marshal would be mighty upset with me if anything happened to you on my watch." She turned back toward the bed to see Kitty slumped against the pillow, struggling to breathe. "Oh, God, Kitty...Kitty. ..I don't know..."

"Ma... get Matt," she managed to gasp.

Sue hesitated, not wanting to leave her alone, but knowing she needed to get help-and fast. As she dashed by the window, she noticed Sam Noonan step outside the back door of the Long Branch, an empty crate in his hands. Pushing up the window she shouted, "Sam!" The bartender looked across the alley to see Sue waving frantically from Doc's window. "Get the marshal – Marshal Dillon – NOW!"

Sam nodded and hurried inside and up the stairs to the room where Matt had retired nearly two hours earlier. Sue turned back to Kitty, holding her upright and rubbing her back in an effort to ease the tortured breathing, all the while praying help would get there soon. Her prayers were answered almost immediately in the form of tired footsteps dragging slowly up the rickety old stairs.

Glad to be home after a day of rounds in the country, Doc Adams let himself into the outer office and glanced toward the open door of the back bedroom. "Matt?" he called softly.

He was surprised to see Sue burst through the door, tears welling in her dark eyes. "Doc..."

But words weren't needed. The old physician threw his hat on the desk and moved quickly to Kitty's side. "What happened?"

Sue raised her hands helplessly, but Doc wasn't even looking at her. He was listening once again to Kitty's heart and lungs, feeling her thready pulse.

Matt burst through the outside door, crossing the office and reaching Kitty's side in just a few long strides. "Doc?"

"Her lungs are full of congestion. What happened here, Sue?"

Sue shook her head. "I...I don't know. We were talking, laughing even...just girl talk. She seemed fine and then while I was doing her hair, she...she started to cough, just a little bit at first and it...it got worse and worse." The tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

"I need your help here, Sue. Fill the kettles and start heating some water, hot as you can get it. Matt, you'll find two heavy blankets in that chest. Get them."

Matt looked startled. "Doc, you're not going to... operate on her, are you?"

"No, I'm not going to operate on her. I'm going to steam her."

"Steam her?"

Doc continued working over Kitty as he explained. "Did this a lot in the army. We're going to make a kind of tent out of those blankets, and you're going to sit inside it and hold her. Sue and I will keep the hot water coming, and it will create steam inside the tent. If we're lucky, the steam will break up some of the congestion."

"And if it doesn't?" He paused, blankets in hand, as Kitty's wheezing became heavier and heavier and her lips began to turn blue.

Doc finally looked up, and his eyes met Matt's. "Have faith, Matt. Have faith. Now, get to work on that tent. Right here... drape one end over the dresser and anchor it under the chair legs."

By the time Matt had fashioned the tent, Sue returned with two steaming kettles of water which Doc instructed her to put on one of the straight chairs inside the tent. Matt lifted Kitty into his arms and stooped inside as Doc pinned the flap closed behind them. Within minutes, sweat poured down Matt's face as he sat encased in steam beneath the heavy wool blankets with Kitty cradled on his lap. She gasped again, the harsh, wheezing sound tearing at his heart with each painful breath she struggled to take.

Doc stood outside the tent listening intently to the sounds coming from the inside. "How does she look?"

"No change."

"I was afraid of this," Doc muttered to himself. Aloud he said, "You're going to have to hit her, Matt."

"What?"

"Have you lost your mind, Doc?" Sue asked as she stood nervously outside the tent.

"I haven't lost my mind, and I don't want to lose Kitty, either." Doc turned back toward the tent. "Listen to me, Matt. You're going to hit her on the back – right between the shoulder blades – several hard, sharp blows. Use the side of your hand – like a tomahawk chop."

"I...I can't..."

"Yes, you can. You have to. But first, hand those kettles out, and we'll re-fill them. Then hit her. Three sharp blows."

Doc and Sue waited, while inside the tent a sweating Matt Dillon took a deep breath and turned his woman in his arms, striking her between the shoulder blades, tentatively at first, then with more force at Doc's urging.

Kitty cried out, and Matt called through the blanket again. "I can't do this, Doc. I can't hurt her."

"You _can _do it, Matt. You don't have a choice. Here's more water."

For the next half hour, Matt held Kitty in his arms, striking her across the back, silently condemning himself and cursing the old physician who stood on the other side of the blanket forcing him to inflict pain on the woman he loved. Finally, Kitty released a cough, not a tortured wheeze, but a deep, cleansing cough.

Doc called through the blanket. "That's the sound I've been waiting for. How does she look now?"

"Uh, I think she..." And then Matt's voice brightened. "She's not blue anymore, Doc. Come see for yourself."

Doc bent his head and peered inside the tent. Kitty's lips and skin had definitely taken on a pinker, healthier tinge. He smiled. "Bring her out and put her straight to bed. Sue, we need a dry nightgown. I don't want her getting a chill."

Matt emerged from the tent, his shirt clinging to his chest, sweat dripping from his brow, his curls plastered to his forehead while Kitty lay limply in his arms. He carried her carefully over to the waiting bed and began to unbutton the damp garment from her body.

Sue hurried in to change Kitty into the extra nightgown she'd brought, and then Matt tucked her under the quilt. Doc again listened to her heart and lungs and nodded. "Her heartbeat's steady right now. Let's just hope it stays that way."

Matt's head jerked up.

Doc frowned. "Pneumonia's a tricky thing, and her left lung might be a little weak anyway from that gunshot wound all those years ago. She overdid it today because she felt better..." His voice drifted off as he looked through the open door at Sue, drying the kettles and tidying up the stove. No need for anyone to know that the talcum powder he had noticed clinging to Kitty's scalp might have triggered the attack. "...and this will set her back a bit, but she's a fighter."

"Thanks for saving her, Doc." Matt's voice thickened as he added, "Again." Then, blowing out a hard breath, he asked, "But tell me one thing. Why did you make me hit her? Why didn't you do it yourself?"

Doc swiped his hand across his mustache and shook his head. "I wasn't sure I could. Much as I love her, much as she means to me, you love her and need her more. It takes a very special kind of love to do what you just did."

**x**

By the time the shadows lengthened against the walls, Matt couldn't sit still any longer. He had been keeping vigil by Kitty's bedside, watching her, willing her breathing to return to normal, willing her to continue to fight this setback.

He stretched, ignoring the cracks and pops of his spine that brought little relief to his aching back. After pacing for several minutes, he finally settled at the small window overlooking the alley and stared into the darkness, his face sinking into lines of grim determination. Kitty was not going to be the only one to pay the price for his devotion to the badge. Not this time.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**STATE OF CONSPIRACY**

**Part Five**

Matt continued to stand at the window, staring into the dark street, the grim lines of determination etching themselves deeper into his rugged face with each passing minute. He was almost certain that Addley Washburn was connected somehow, but damned if he knew how. The one person who had the answer was the one person he couldn't ask. Archer Romans had taken that secret with him when they buried him six feet under the earth on Boot Hill. Matt rubbed his eyes, thinking about what he knew, wondering and worrying about what he didn't know.

**{Three Months Earlier}**

**Topeka – February 1892**

Archer Romans waited in the dark barroom of the Saratoga Hotel. He glanced around uneasily. He didn't like big-city saloons much. Too many dark corners, too many mirrors. "Rye," he ordered. "And none of your rotgut. Good rye." He tossed a coin on the bar and knocked back the drink. He curled his lip. "Ain't you got anything better 'n that?"

"Nope."

Romans dropped another coin on the polished wood, and the bartender wordlessly refilled his glass. From the corner of his eye, he saw Addley Washburn sidle through the door, glancing furtively around. Romans stood absolutely still waiting for the lieutenant governor to find him.

Washburn searched the dark room, his gaze finally settling on the thin man at the bar. He glanced around again, this time checking to be sure no one was paying any attention to him. He moved cautiously to the counter. "Bartender, a bottle of Jensen, if you please."

Without comment, the counterman stooped and pulled out an unopened bottle with a green label proclaiming it the whiskey of royalty. He carefully avoided Romans' eyes.

Resting his palms on the bar railing, Romans growled, "You're late."

"How dare you say that to me?" Washburn replied, his voice trembling with indignation. "I am running the State of Kansas."

Romans turned his amused gaze downward, ignoring the lieutenant governor's incensed expression. He reached across to grab the Jensen's by the neck, uncorked it, and poured a generous tot into his glass. "Running the state, huh? Pay for your bottle then, and let's get this over with." He turned away, heading to a table in the darkest corner. Angrily, Washburn plunked coins on the bar and followed.

"Nice place you picked for a meeting. Come here often, Mister _Lieutenant Governor_?" Romans sneered as he filled his glass again.

"I chose it because nobody I know comes here." Washburn frowned. "But it used to be much nicer than this."

Romans nodded his head, "Yeah. Them two rats over there in the corner agree with you."

"Look, I don't have much time. I asked you here to offer you a very lucrative proposal, as I stated in the telegram I sent you."

"I'm listening." Romans tossed back his drink and poured another.

"You've heard of Matt Dillon?"

"Who hasn't?"

"I want you to take him on. Not in a gunfight, but legally. I'm appointing you an agent of the state."

"Agent of the state? What the hell does that mean? I don't want to be no lawman, if that's what it is."

"I'll pay you two thousand dollars, half now, half when the job is done." Washburn stroked the leather satchel resting on his lap as if it were a cat. It took all his resolve not to stroke his arousal as well.

Romans leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Where are you going to get that kind of money?"

"Let's just say I have acquaintances from my past who still need protection for their indiscretions. "

Romans stared hard over the top of his shot glass at Washburn. "Let me see the cash."

Wordlessly, Washburn opened his case and allowed the bounty hunter to glimpse the bills inside.

Breaking the silence, Romans asked, "So, if I agree to be this agent, what do I have to do?"

Washburn placed the satchel on the table and rested his arms across the top as he began to reveal his plan.

**{Two Months Later}**

**Dodge City – April 1892**

Only Percy Crump, an unwilling preacher, Doc Adams, and Matt Dillon were in attendance when Romans was laid to his final rest.

Two days later, twenty people attended the funeral of William Tyler, victim ultimately not of a gunshot wound but a weakened heart. He was mourned as a good neighbor, those aware of his previous life willing to bury the past long before they had to bury his body.

An hour later, Matt put Teresa and the baby on a southbound train. "Good luck." Matt stood awkwardly, hat between his hands. "Are you sure you've got enough money?"

"We will be fine, Marshal Dillon. You have been most kind. And most generous."

Matt said nothing. He knew that most of the money they'd raised in the whip-round had been contributed by Kitty Russell. "Tell me where to send the money when we sell the farm."

"Please. Give it to Miss Russell. She has already given me so much." She hesitated. "I – Please do not misunderstand, Marshal. It is just that I need a – a fresh start. I loved Scott, but now he is dead… I must begin again without ties to the past." And then she boarded the train, her shoulders straight, a black shawl wrapped around her slender frame, her baby held tightly in her arms. She did not look back.

Matt heaved a deep sigh and returned to the jail to write his report about the deaths of Archer Romans, agent of the acting governor of the State of Kansas, and William Tyler, farmer. When he was done, he sat back and read it through again, frowning. Finally, he shook his head, shrugged, folded it into an envelope and strode off to the post office.

He was mildly surprised five days later when he received a telegram from Addley Washburn demanding his presence in Topeka immediately.

The night before he left, he lay entwined in Kitty's arms and the white sheet that covered her bed. "What do you think he wants, Matt?" she asked as she traced the hard muscles of his chest with her finger.

Stretching, he brought his right arm under his head. "Whatever it is, shouldn't take long to sort out," Matt mumbled into her curls. "The lieutenant governor appointed Romans to find Coltrane. I imagine he's not too pleased with the way things turned out."

"You don't think there'll be trouble do you?" Kitty rested against Matt's chest, studying his face in the faint light cast by the waning moon.

"Nah, can't imagine why there would be."

But there had been.

Trouble was waiting for him when he walked into the office of the governor to confront a vengeful Addley Washburn.

**Topeka – April 1892**

Hopkins, the governor's secretary, tapped on the door and then edged into the room. He was careful to maintain a neutral façade. "Marshal Dillon is here, sir. He says you sent for him."

"Ahhh." Washburn spun round in his chair. He had been staring out the wide window that dominated the governor's office. "Is he armed?"

"Sir?"

"Armed, man, armed. Is he wearing his gun? Is everyone Harvey employs an imbecile?"

Hopkins bit his lip. Word of the dismissal of Fletcher, the carriage driver, had hit the rest of the governor's staff very hard. "Sir," he said stiffly, "he is wearing his gunbelt."

"All right. Wait five minutes and then show him in. Are those extra Pinkertons I ordered somewhere close by?"

"They're…" Hopkins hesitated. "They're waiting in the cloakroom, sir." He'd stopped just short of saying playing poker and smoking.

"Good. Good. Tell them to be on the alert for my call. All right, Hopkins, five minutes, and then show the marshal in. And Hopkins…"

The secretary gritted his teeth and turned back.

"Tell Dillon to leave his gunbelt with you."

Hopkins took a deep breath. "Yes, sir."

**x**

Matt paused as he entered Jim Harvey's office. It seemed strange to see another man behind the governor's big mahogany desk.

"Marshal Dillon," Washburn said, lounging back in his chair. "Well, well, Marshal Dillon."

"Yes, sir," Dillon said, his face a neutral mask. "You sent for me."

Washburn deliberately did not invite the big lawman to sit down. "You killed Archer Romans," he said abruptly.

Dillon nodded and waited.

"Archer Romans was a duly appointed agent of the State of Kansas. He was a lawman."

"He was a bounty hunter," Matt ground out, "and he was threatening to kill an innocent woman and her child."

"Innocent? Scott Coltrane's doxy?"

Dillon's jaw hardened and a muscle jumped in his neck. "She is the legal wife of William Tyler. Scott Coltrane is dead."

"You interfered with a lawman in the pursuit of his duties. He was in Dodge on my direct orders to bring in an outlaw that you couldn't or wouldn't confront. Kansas will be a lawful state. You've had free rein under Jim Harvey, but it's time you learned to follow orders." Washburn snapped forward in his chair, his dark eyes furious.

Matt considered the pasty-skinned man barricaded behind the desk and said slowly, "All due respect, but I do not answer to you. I am a federally appointed marshal and I report to the Secretary of War." Without being aware of it, he planted his feet and balled his fists, ready for Washburn's next action.

Washburn blanched, and then a tide of angry crimson flooded his face. "Federally appointed. Federally appointed. Fed-er-al-ly ap-poin-ted. " With each repetition his voice grew higher and louder and little flecks of spittle began to spew from his mouth. "Kansas has laws and if you…" He took a deep breath and visibly made an effort to control himself.

The two men stared at each other.

Finally Washburn pushed back from the desk and made a second effort to calm himself. He said, "We seem to be getting ahead of ourselves, Marshal. Right now, my main concern is the death of Archer Romans. As I understand it, you freely admit you killed him."

Once again, Dillon nodded. And waited.

Washburn took a deep breath and bellowed, "Pinkertons! Now!"

The door on the left side of the room crashed open, and three tough-looking, burly men charged in.

Washburn pointed dramatically. "This man is under arrest for the murder of an agent of the State of Kansas. Seize him."

TBC

**Note: Once again, many thanks to all who are reading and leaving comments on our story. SuzyQ, kittylover100, and mommoo, I wish I could thank you with a personal message, but since I can't do that, this group message will have to do. Also, SuzyQ, I would be happy to give you the link to my YouTube channel, but I can't do that on here. You might try going to YT and then searching for nelliepearl1106. Not sure that will work, but it's worth a try.**


	6. Chapter 6

**STATE OF CONSPIRACY**

**Part Six**

**Dodge City – May 1892**

**{One month after Matt's arrest}**

Matt Dillon uttered a silent word of thanks to the powers that be for granting his prayer. Watching the woman he loved struggle for breath and slip in and out of consciousness had been gut-wrenching for him. Since shortly before midnight, however, she had been breathing easier, keeping fluids down and talking.

Talking. He knew he could no longer avoid telling her the details of his trip to Topeka, and the look she had just thrown his way told him his time was up.

Propped against the pillows, she stared at the lawman sitting by her bedside. "All right, Matt, I'm better now, and I want to know what happened in Topeka."

"Done and over, no need to talk about it," he tried. A sigh escaped him when Doc trundled through the door. Double teamed and doomed.

Kitty persisted. "Quit stalling. You head off to meet with the lieutenant governor, and the next thing I know there's a stop press bulletin in the paper saying you'd been arrested for the murder of Archer Romans. Now spill it, mister."

He took a deep breath and surrendered to the inevitable. "There's really not that much to tell, Kitty. They arrested me after I met with Washburn. The sheriff, Ty Mitchell, got me a lawyer, and they convened a jury."

"Why didn't Mitchell let me – us," she inclined her head to include Doc, "know what was going on?"

"Told him not to."

"Matt…"

Dillon held up his hand. "No point. By the time you could have gotten there it would have been nearly all over. And if they were going to hang me, I sure didn't want you in town for that. Anyway, Ty got me a lawyer – Crandall Pike –didn't seem real quick at first – kind of reminded me of Chester – but he sure did have a sharp legal mind. He owed Ty some kind of favor. Now I owe Ty."

"No," Kitty corrected softly. "Now _we _owe Ty."

Doc, who had been silent to this point, remarked casually, "Been reading an interesting article in the paper that came in on the last train."

Grateful for what he thought was going to be a change of subject, Matt asked, "About what?"

Adams produced a folded paper from his jacket and opened it with a flourish. "Yes, sir, a real interesting article. All about a sensational trial and this lawman who was accused of murder."

"What?" Matt sat up straighter and glared at his friend.

Kitty exclaimed, "Oh, Doc, is that the Topeka paper? Read it to me, please. Getting Matt to tell me what went on is like getting Festus to buy a round of drinks at the Long Branch."

"Well, now, let's see. Says here, Attorney General Schuyler was the prosecutor." He looked at Matt over his spectacles. "Not often a top official goes into the courtroom himself. They must have thought you were something special."

Doc skimmed the paper. "According to this reporter – Nelson, his name is, Otis Nelson-and I quote, **_'_**_The trial of __Marshal Matt Dillon__, a man whose very name has become synonymous with law and order in the west, brought sensation-seeking crowds to Topeka, the likes of which the city has not seen since __the trial of the Winston Brothers a decade ago_**_.'_**

_"'Lieutenant Governor Addley Washburn addressed the crowd outside the courthouse prior to the opening session. He cited corruption, malfeasance in office, abuse of office, failure to perform sworn duties, and the blatant murder of a duly appointed agent of the State of Kansas as grounds for the charges brought against the United States Marshal from Dodge City. Washburn indicated that testimony from victimized citizens would substantiate the charges.'"_

Doc looked up. "You sure must be a hardened criminal for them to bring all those charges against you."

"For heaven's sake, Doc," Kitty protested. "Just go on and read what it says."

Doc grinned and continued. "Schuyler started right off by calling a string of witnesses to attest to what a fine, upstanding, law-biding citizen Archer Romans was." He snorted, adding, "Must have found `em in the local prison. And this Crandall Pike lawyer fella went after them – not about Romans, but asking where they worked, how they'd met Romans, how the prosecutor had located them, what they'd been offered to testify. From what this reporter says, the jury didn't look too impressed with their testimonies."

Doc paused to clean his spectacles.

"What happened next?" Kitty prompted.

"Aren't you tired? Shouldn't she rest, Doc?"

"Matt!"

Doc cleared his throat. "Schuyler called Jack Howard to talk about Matt killing his boy. One thing I'll say for the _State-Ledger_, this Nelson fella's not afraid to say what he thinks of a witness now and then." Doc began to read aloud the reporter's eye witness report of the trial as printed in the paper.

"'_Mr. Schuyler requested that __Mr. Howard __tell the jury about the death of his nineteen year old son. __Mr. Howard gave the marshal a hard-eyed glare as he declared, `Marshal Dillon shot him down in the dirt like a yard dog.'" _

"D'you have to read the whole thing, Doc?" Matt asked.

"Yes, he does," Kitty said, narrowing her eyes. "I want to hear every word. Go on, Doc."

"Hmmmm. Well, I think we can skip this next part. Here's where it gets good…"

"_'Mr. Pike questioned Mr. Howard, __eliciting information that painted his son as a rabble rouser. __After further prompting from Mr. Pike, Howard revealed that his son had conflicts with Jimmy Sutton, one of the __ranch __hands, over a certain female who worked at the Lady Gay, a saloon in Dodge City. Mr. Pike confirmed that Marshal Dillon had sent the young men home to sober up after an incident in the saloon involving the woman.'"_

"Damned shame," Doc said. "Jake Howard killed that Sutton boy in a drunken rage."

"And tried to kill Matt, too," Kitty added vehemently.

"Doc," Matt protested. "We know what happened. Kitty knows what happened. You don't have to read every single word."

Doc looked at Matt and then at Kitty and went on.

"_'Attorney General Schuyler called Moses Wainwright to the stand. Mr. Wainwright admitted that he had been a resident of Dodge some four years previous and was asked to vacate the town by Marshal Dillon.'" _

"Wainwright? Moses Wain… Matt, isn't he the man who tried to set up a trading post and was selling rotgut whiskey to the Indians?" Kitty frowned. "Why on earth would they call him to testify?"

"Says here, `_Mr. Wainwright felt that Marshal Dillon exceeded his authority and interfered with legitimate commerce._'" Doc chuckled. "You'll love this, Kitty." He read, "_'Clearly, the marshal was angling for a bribe, but since I was – and am – adamantly opposed to official corruption – I refused and was subsequently escorted from the environs of Dodge City_.'"

"Matt, where did they find these people?" Kitty asked.

Matt shrugged. "Apparently Archer Romans came to Dodge looking for more than just Scott Coltrane. He musta been nosing around for people who have a grudge against me." He gave her a lop-sided grin. "They're not too hard to find, ya know."

"And," Doc added, "Washburn musta paid for their tickets to Topeka and put them up some place. Lord knows Jack Howard couldn't afford that kind of a trip." He looked over his eyeglasses at Kitty. "Appears they called Jasper Sklar, too."

"That's enough, Doc. You can read the rest of it to Kitty later. She's tired and…"

"I am not!" Kitty looked at Matt. "I know you don't want to hear this all over again, but I want to hear it."

Matt heaved himself to his feet. "I'm going for a walk. I need some air." He looked sternly at Doc. "If she gets too tired – "

Doc nodded. "Go on. Fresh air might do you good. I'll look after Kitty."

They listened to his heavy footsteps die away, and Kitty sighed, shaking her head. "I know he hated every minute of this whole business, Doc, and I don't like making him relive it, but, honestly…"

Doc smiled and patted her hand. "I'll read some more, but if you doze off, I won't take it personally." He found his place in the columns of newsprint. "Let's see here…"

"_'Jasper Sklar, another businessman who formerly resided in Dodge City, was the next witness. Mr. Schuyler established that he was the previous owner of a saloon called The Texas Trail. Mr. Sklar, who seemed a nervous and shifty-eyed individual, testified to numerous occasions when Dillon was unavailable to ward off dangerous fisticuffs and gun play in his own establishment because he was patronizing another establishment of a similar nature. Asked why Dillon appeared to favor that particular saloon, Sklar cackled, `Favor's the right word, all right. He was getting some mighty fine favors down there, y'ask me_.''"

"_'Mr. Pike objected, and the judge quashed further attempts at inquiry into this line of questioning because the good name of a lady might be involved.'"_

Doc looked at Kitty. "So that was the burr under Matt's saddle. I knew something more had to be eating at him than just being accused of killing Archer Romans."

Kitty looked at him and sadly shook her head. "Poor Matt."

Doc harrumphed. "Fools." He searched the paper for something to distract her. "Remember Sooley Stark, that old drunk who tried to rob Bodkin's bank?"

"He nearly killed the clerk, didn't he?"

"Yeah. Well, they called his widow and, boy, was she a sensation. Listen to this.

"_'Next, the prosecutor called Mrs. Sukie Stark to the stand. He asked her place of residence, to which she replied that she lived with her brother in Hays City, adding that she was forced to move in with him when Marshal Dillon brutally __killed her husband. Mr. Schuyler expressed horror and sympathy at this revelation, then asked Mrs. Stark the reason for her husband's death. It was noted that the witness became reticent as she revealed that her husband had been intoxicated. `When he got drunk he got kind of __mean,' she told the court_.'"

"And he was drunk ninety-five percent of the time," Kitty said dryly. "A mean, nasty drunk."

Doc nodded and continued with the account. "_'So,' Mr. Schuyler prompted, `Marshal Dillon shot down a drunken man?' Mrs. Stark quickly confirmed that he did and attempted to leave the stand, but was halted by Judge Willis, who asked Mr. Pike if he had questions for the witness._

_"'Before Pike could respond, Sukie Stark pulled a small revolver from the pocket of her grease-streaked skirt and aimed it in the direction of the defendant's table at Matt Dillon. _

_"'The spectators screamed at the sight of the gun, and those seated at the table jumped back as Dillon rose swiftly, __his lightning quick right hand going automatically to his hip, fingers reaching for the Colt that had been confiscated when he was arrested._

"`_Told you I can't stand ta see him walkin' around when he's the one what killed my Sooley,' Mrs. Stark screeched as she pulled the trigger. The shot went low and did no damage except to several thick law books stacked on the edge of the defendant's table. __Sheriff Mitchell and a deputy rushed to the witness box, removing the deranged Mrs. Stark. Judge Willis quickly gaveled the room back into order and instructed the jury to disregard the entire testimony of the obviously disturbed witness.'"_

As Doc read, Kitty's eyes widened as she sat upright in the bed. "What? She tried to kill Matt? He never said..."

"Hush now, you've seen him. Does he look like he was hit?" Doc moved to the corner of the bed, the newspaper in one hand, the other gently guiding Kitty back into a reclining position. "He's not gonna be happy when he finds out I read you this. He's fine, honey, not even a scratch."

She closed her eyes and relaxed back into the pillows.

Doc squeezed her arm. "Want me to keep reading?"

Kitty nodded, and Doc moved back to his bedside chair. "Next Schuyler called Judge Brooker."

"Judge Brooker?" she repeated, surprise in her voice.

"Yep. Says here Schuyler asked him a couple of questions. Sounds like Brooker wasn't real cooperative for the prosecution. When Pike got up there, he asked only one question. `_J__udge Brooker, you have observed Marshal Dillon in the performance of his duties on numerous occasions. What is your opinion of his ability as a lawman?'" _

"What did the judge say?" Kitty asked eagerly.

Before Doc could reply, Matt stepped through the open door of the bedroom. "He – seemed to think I do okay," he said lightly, his glance daring Doc to read Brooker's actual words to Kitty. "Isn't that right, Doc?"

Understanding, Adams replied, "Oh, yes...yes." He cleared his throat. "Think I'll have some coffee," he added, rising to cross into the outer office.

"Matt, you didn't tell me Sukie Stark tried to kill you."

"She missed." Dillon shrugged and reached for her hand.

"But you should have told me," she insisted, twitching her hand away from his grasp.

"Kitty – you were so sick… Hell, I didn't want to tell you about any of this Topeka mess. Sukie Stark was just – just nothing." He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. "Forgive me?" he asked as they heard Doc clatter the coffee pot back onto the stove.

Matt moved to the end of Kitty's bed before the old physician shuffled back to pick up the paper, continuing to read where he had left off. "Let's see. After that, Schuyler called his star witness. Teresa Tyler. Teresa Coltrane."

Matt said, "Mitchell told me Washburn sent a telegram to the sheriff in Englewood, down near the Oklahoma border, and he took her right off the train. She looked scared when Schuyler started in on her." He looked away, once again seeing the thin, dark haired woman on the stand, her shawl clutched tightly around her shoulders.

"Poor Teresa," Kitty sympathized.

"What did they think would be accomplished by putting her on the stand?" Doc asked, his coffee cup poised at his mouth.

Matt answered quietly. "Schuyler tried to get her to admit she'd married Scott Coltrane, not William Tyler, but Teresa wouldn't have any part of it. She even brought their marriage certificate with her."

Doc lowered his cup and began to read again. "_Mr. Schuyler asked the witness to confirm that Archer Romans ordered her husband to surrender to him. __The Widow Tyler refused to testify, begging the judge not to let her baby be taken from her. She revealed the prosecution had threatened to sever this sacred bond if she did not testify against Matt Dillon. __Judge Willis, his anger toward the prosecutor apparent in his stern tone, assured her that her child was safe. Tearfully, she recounted the trauma of watching her husband shot and at the mercy of Romans, who claimed to be acting on behalf of Lieutenant Governor Washburn. `Matt Dillon came in and saved our lives!' she cried. Her emotional testimony was stopped by Judge Willis, who was forced to quiet the sudden conversation of the court observers, warning the jury to ignore the witness' last statement."_

Doc put down the paper, expectantly looking at Matt. "Well?"

"Well what?" Dillon responded.

"Tell us how it ended," Doc ordered.

"Hung jury. The judge declared it a mistrial."

"What does that mean?" Kitty asked, concern still drawing down her brow.

Matt took her hand. "It means I came home to you-that's what it means."

**x**

Later, while Kitty slept and Matt sat beside her, once again trying to piece together the bits of information as he knew them, Barney climbed the stairs to Doc's office and, with the physician's nod of approval, slipped a telegram under the bedroom door.

Rising stiffly from the bedside chair, Matt picked up the single sheet of yellow paper. He read it through quickly and glanced at the woman he loved. "Damn," he muttered, crumpling the wire. He sighed heavily, eased the door open and stepped around it.

Doc looked up from his reading. "You going somewhere?"

Wordlessly, Dillon held out the crumpled telegram.

Charges reinstated /stop/ return immediately/ stop/ or come get you /stop/ Mitchell.

"Did you tell Kitty?"

"She's still asleep. I – I didn't want to wake her. There's a train heading east in less than an hour."

"Coward," Doc answered dryly and looked at Matt. "I thought the jury was hung. Isn't this double jeopardy?"

"Jury _was_ hung. Doesn't mean Schuyler can't re-open the case. It's not double jeopardy unless they acquit."

Doc looked toward the door of the bedroom and raised an eyebrow.

"It's nothing to worry about," Matt said to reassure the elderly physician. "It won't come to anything. Jim Harvey should be back from Washington soon, and he'll put a stop to all this nonsense."

"And if he isn't? Or doesn't?"

Matt blew out a deep breath. "Doc, whatever happens, don't let Kitty go to Topeka. If this should go sour...I...I don't want her there.

"I understand, but you know how headstrong she can be."

"Have Festus lock her up if he has to. Listen, I have to go. Will you – that is..." The lawman gave a final nod toward the closed door of the bedroom.

"Oh, I'll tell her, but she's going to be mad as fire."

"Better you than me." Matt gave the physician a half-grin as he hurried out the door and down the stairs, leaving Doc sputtering behind him.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**STATE OF CONSPIRACY**

**Section Seven**

**Topeka – May 1892**

Sheriff Ty Mitchell met the train in Topeka.

"Taking me to jail again?" Matt asked as the two men shook hands.

"Got a couple of people I want you to meet first." Mitchell turned his back, and Dillon followed the shorter, stockier man out of the train station and into the waiting hansom.

"Sally's place," he said briefly to the driver and looked at Matt. After a minute he went on, "Governor's due back tomorrow."

"How do you know that?"

"Hopkins."

Matt almost smiled at that. "Friends in high places."

"And low," Mitchell said as the carriage pulled up in front of a large blue house, fronted by a white picket fence and a porch with a white railing.

"You gen'lemen have yourselves a good time now." The coachman grinned as he pocketed his fare and drove off.

Matt considered it an odd comment, but, intent on following Ty Mitchell, he shrugged it off. Rounding the side of the house, Mitchell led him to the rear door. A man standing just inside greeted them and said, "Been keeping an eye on things like you said, Sheriff. They're in the back two rooms. Oh, and Miss Sally asks that you two join her for lunch."

"Thanks, Murray. Please tell Mrs. Hansbury we'll be with her in an hour."

Mitchell walked down a short hallway and unlocked the first door. "Hello, Mabel," he said as he entered.

Mabel. Sally _Hansbury_. The driver's grin. Suddenly it all slammed together, and Matt realized he was inside the establishment known far and wide as Blue Heaven. Sally Hansbury's Blue Heaven. He chuckled to himself. Only a cow town lawman would not have made the connection sooner.

Matt followed Mitchell into the room. A blowsy woman with a bloated face and sallow, sunken eyes was seated in the room's only chair. What had apparently been a deep bruise was slowly fading from her left cheek.

"Mabel, this is Marshal Dillon. Matt, this lady is Mabel Scrivvers. She inherited the Stilton Boys from her no-good brother Zed, and I believe she has something to tell you about the disappearance of Miss Kitty Russell."

Mabel jumped out of the chair and cowered behind it. "We ain't respon… He made us… She shoulda jus' come quiet-like." She stared at Dillon and wailed, "It ain't our fault. He's the one whut made us..."

"He?" Dillon's voice was gritted-teeth quiet as he fought to restrain himself. "He who?"

"Add. Add Washburn. He – he made me…"

"Why?"

"He – he wanted to – to…" She swallowed hard and looked at Mitchell. "Don't let him hit me. You promised…"

"Answer the question." Mitchell's tone was cold.

"He wanted her. He wanted her 'cause she was yours. He – he don't like you much." She put her hand to her face and peered at him from behind it.

"What did he intend to do with her?" Matt's voice was low and controlled. Too controlled.

"He didn't tell me. Just said she'd be useful – if he needed to... Add – Add isn't…" She paused. "He isn't a nice man. You made him mad. When he gets mad, he gets – he gets… crazy." She stopped and unconsciously rubbed her cheek. "I was lucky to get out of there when I ...after I told him she was gone. He went – he started breaking things – I don't know what he's going to tell the real governor. I wouldn't have got out of there if the Pinkertons hadn't come in when they heard the noise."

Mabel shifted her gaze to Ty Mitchell. "I guess me and the boys'll swing?" She bit her lip and shut her eyes. "Probably easier than what Add `ud do to us, though."

Matt shook his head and ground out, "Let's get out of here, Ty." At the door, moved by an impulse he couldn't explain, he looked back at Mabel Scrivvers. "Kitty Russell didn't die. She's going to be all right."

The next room was larger with a table and several chairs. Seated in one of them was a large man with greasy brown hair, a mole beneath his left eye, and an overstuffed belly straining against his vest.

"Matt, this fine upstanding citizen is Chalmer Moggins, one of Topeka's most notorious businessmen. "

"S'help me, God, Mitchell, you got no right to hold me here. I run honest businesses. You can't prove otherwise." The fat man thrust out his chin belligerently.

"Ummmmm. Gambling, prostitution, blackmail, hashish, backroom politics, you name it. All the vices known to man, and Moggins here has his finger in every pie."

"Politics?" Matt said, eyeing the man handcuffed to the chair.

"Yes. Jim Harvey doesn't know it but Chalmer here bought the lieutenant governor ten years ago when he was just a ward-heeler. Seems Washburn likes poker and the ladies, and that's a bad combination for a man whose Ma cleaned houses to keep him in knickers. He beat a working girl half to death and then lost ten thousand dollars in a poker game. He and Moggins have been partners ever since."

"You've been busy," Moggins said sullenly.

"Want to explain to the marshal why Washburn decided to take on the most honest lawman in Kansas?"

"That was strictly Addley's play. He had this idea that if he could prove Matt Dillon was corrupt, as a reward he could get himself put in charge of all the law enforcement in Kansas, and then we'd be set-him and me. We'd control every saloon, brewery, brothel and gambling den from here to the Oklahoma border. I thought he was crazy." He shrugged. "But I was willing to invest a few dollars, just in case he worked it out."

Matt stared hard at the greasy man. "So how did Archer Romans play into all of this?"

"I introduced them." Moggins looked at Dillon shrewdly. "I figured, either way, I couldn't lose. If you got past Romans and took Washburn down, there'd be somebody else I could buy. If he took you down, he and I'd be in the driver's seat." He shrugged again and smiled, showing broken teeth and receding gums.

Mitchell made a sound of disgust. Looking back at Dillon, he said, "Let's have lunch," and led the way toward the front, stepping through the heavy silk brocade drapes that separated the parlor from the rest of the rooms.

Sally Hansbury's establishment was not as gaudy as Matt had expected it might be, but there was no mistaking its purpose, especially when he noticed the women arrayed in various postures of invitation in the front parlor. The majority appeared a bit long in the tooth, having seen better days-better decades even. A few, though, were still young and shapely, their carefully coiffed hair shining, their eyes beckoning. If he had been a wild young man without ties he might have been tempted, but he felt not even the faintest stirring of interest at their blatant seductiveness. He had his own seductress waiting for him at home.

Apparently, though, his lack of interest was not a deterrent, because as soon as he stepped into the room and straightened his long frame, they practically tripped over each other in a rush to greet him. Matt suppressed an unexpected flicker of alarm. Mitchell raised an amused brow, but didn't move to his defense.

"My, my!" one of the older ones drawled, placing her hand on his left forearm. "What do we have here?" She shook her head in what he assumed was supposed to be a sensuous movement, the faded blonde hair enhanced with faux ringlets that didn't quite match the original color.

"Now _that's_ a man," a bronze-skinned brunette declared, exotic gaze raking him up and down as she swished toward him.

Another girl, this one fair with creamy skin, stepped in front of him, her forefinger flicking at his string tie before it trailed the length of his torso. Swallowing hard, he caught her wrist before she reached his belt.

Throwing a mildly desperate glance toward Mitchell, Matt narrowed his eyes when his fellow lawman still offered no help. Indeed, the other man seemed to be enjoying his friend's predicament.

Fingers slid up Matt's arm and across his right shoulder. He turned slightly to see a soft, rounded face smiling up at him. "Oh, you're a_ tall_ one, aren't you?" she purred. She was young, he realized. Much too young.

"Tall and big," yet another sighed, her tongue sliding over pouting scarlet lips. "_Real _big," she added, staring directly at his groin.

Heat flushed his cheeks, and he tried to ignore the invitation in their gestures. The thought that half of them probably had the pox quelled any physical reaction, and he carefully but firmly began plucking their roaming hands from his body.

"He's shy!" the first dove exclaimed, sliding her hand between the buttons of his white dress shirt before he could stop her. "Don't you worry, honey. I'll make you feel real friendly soon enough."

"How come you get him, Eunice?" the youngest one snapped, pushing the older one away. Matt watched a button pop off his shirt as her hand jerked out.

"Ladies," he said in his best marshal voice, trying not to choke on the cloying odor of perfume that surrounded the throng, "I'm not here for –"

But before he could continue, the Mexican girl slapped away someone's hand and received a shove from someone else for her efforts. "He wants _me_!" she spat, thrusting her body lewdly into Matt's, her breasts spilling over the low bodice of her blouse and pushing against his torso.

Trying to ignore the ample offering laid out right in front of him, he grasped her by both arms and lifted her away, just in time for four of the girls to launch themselves on her, fingers clawing at dangling earrings and twisting locks of hair, both real and fake. The rest of the women joined in, and a melee ensued. Fabric ripped, jewelry broke, and screams echoed off the mirrored walls as Matt and Ty watched the cat fight, neither man moving immediately to break it up. Separating men from a fistfight was one thing, but wading in between scratching, half-crazed women was something else entirely. As many brawls as he had broken up in his career, Matt Dillon had never seen anything quite like this. They didn't seem to be slowing down, though, and he was bracing himself to plunge into the fracas when a hard voice froze the action instantly.

"Stop it!"

Relieved, Matt turned to see a handsome woman flowing down the stairs, the rich ruby of her dress and the confidence of her posture drawing instant attention. The saucy tilt of her head, the flash of command in her violet eyes reminded him of Kitty in a way, but this woman was larger, more rounded, although not necessarily in a bad way.

Amazingly, the women obeyed the terse order, climbing off each other, bedraggled and panting, but not particularly chagrined.

Sally Hansbury strolled into the parlor, sparing only an annoyed glance at her girls before she jerked her head toward the stairs and sent them scrambling to the upper rooms. Then she turned to Matt, assessed him carefully from head to toe, and said, "Well, I can't say as I blame them, Marshal. If I didn't know better, I'd entertain you myself."

Clearing his throat, Matt began, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but –"

She smiled ruefully and waved a hand. "I said if I didn't know better. I'm not interested in having Kitty Russell as an enemy." But her head tilted again as she gave him one more appraisal and nodded. "Mighty tempting though."

As if she had just noticed him, she smiled at Ty Mitchell. "Lunch is ready. I imagine you men are hungry – for food, anyway."

As they followed her down a narrow hallway toward the aroma of biscuits and ham, Matt sincerely hoped the girls wouldn't return for dessert.

**x**

Matt leaned against the door frame of the room that was to be his for the evening, eyes warily watching the hallway.

Stuffing his hat on his head, Ty Mitchell stepped past him on his way out. "You need to talk to Governor Harvey as soon as he gets back into town – before Washburn finds out you're here," Mitchell said, as he was taking his leave. "You'll be as safe here at Sally's as you would be at the Long Branch-and a lot safer than you'd be at a hotel. Get some sleep, and I'll send a carriage to pick you up in the morning so you can meet Harvey's train."

Matt nodded, shook the hand of the lawman who most likely had helped him save not only his career, but his life, and closed the door. Carefully, he checked both locks. Earlier, with amusement lifting her full lips, Sally Hansbury had assured him that they were solid. After a moment's consideration, he picked up a straight backed chair and jammed it under the knob, ignoring Mitchell's fading laughter from the other side of the door.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**STATE OF CONSPIRACY**

**Section Eight**

Hopkins, the governor's secretary, brightened when he saw the tall lawman striding toward them. "Look, Governor, here comes the marshal from Dodge City."

Harvey swung around, surprised to see his old friend. "Matt! To what do I owe the…" the words died on his lips as he took in Dillon's grim expression.

"I've got a problem, Governor," Matt said.

"Well, come along, tell me about it while we drive to the office."

**x**

Governor Harvey shook his head in disbelief as he listened to Matt Dillon's words. Just the fact that Washburn had the gall to accuse someone of Dillon's reputation and stature was ridiculous. Harvey had never met a man with more integrity or a man he trusted more implicitly than he did Matt Dillon. But even more incredible was the marshal's revelation that Washburn had been behind the whole thing and had orchestrated an attack on Kitty Russell as well.

Harvey still bore the guilt of his decision not to grant Virgil Bonner a stay of execution when Dillon had asked for it. It was the only time the marshal had ever come anywhere close to requesting a personal favor, and for a man like Dillon, it was tantamount to begging. The governor had been almost physically sick when he heard what had happened to the marshal's woman. He knew perfectly well who Kitty Russell was and what she was to Matt Dillon, and he knew why she had never become Mrs. Dillon. It had been a painful revelation those few years ago.

And now, here was that same man, telling him that once again she had been the victim of violence connected with his office, if only in an indirect way.

"I always knew Washburn was a weasel," Harvey admitted, flicking ashes from a half-smoked cigar into the fireplace. "But I never imagined –"

"I intend to arrest him, Governor," Dillon declared, the tightness of his mouth and the stiffness of his shoulders betraying his fight to maintain control.

The governor nodded. "Yes, of course. You won't get any argument from me." As if an argument would hold up in the face of the marshal's determined wrath. "I'll send for my personal – "

He was interrupted by his office door swinging open, and he turned to see Addley Washburn stroll in casually, a strangely satisfied smirk on his lips, his face slightly flushed. "Ah, Jim," he greeted with forced joviality. "I heard you were ba – " But the words died when the lieutenant governor's eyes fell on Dillon.

The three stood frozen for a heartbeat. Washburn's red face drained white, his swallow was audible.

"Di – Dillon? You should b-be…" He jerked toward the governor. "He should be in jail. What is he doing…"

Before Harvey could reply, the tall form snapped out of its trance, and Dillon's long legs strode across the room, needing only two wide strides to bring his body right up to Washburn's. The smaller man took a step back, then another, as the marshal planted his boots and leaned forward.

Harvey wondered vaguely if he should summon help, but that thought was fleeting.

"I ought to break your filthy neck," Dillon snarled, his voice deep and menacing.

Washburn's eyes widened, and he cast a desperate glance toward Harvey, only to find, to his horror, that the governor's eyes were just as hard and glaring as those of the massive marshal who now stood almost toe to toe with him, the huge frame towering over him like a grizzly about to rip apart his prey.

"What are – I don't know what you are talking – I didn't do anything to you."

"Doesn't matter what you did to me. It's what you did to _her…"_

The governor heard that firm voice crack on the last word, and could have sworn he saw the large hands tremble before they clenched into fists.

"_Her_?" Washburn squeaked. "You – you can't – I didn't have anything to – to do with –"

Suddenly, the second-in-command of the state found himself in the air, held up high enough by the sheer strength of Dillon's hands that he was face to face with the furious marshal.

It had happened between blinks, the governor realized, as he watched Washburn dangle helplessly in Dillon's powerful grip. "Matt…" he started, but realized that the big man didn't even hear him.

The marshal jerked Washburn roughly, ignoring the man's yelp. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now."

"I – I…" But then he seemed somehow to find some gumption and took a deep breath. "Release me at once."

Dillon didn't budge.

With the bravado of arrogance Washburn repeated, "Release me. You are an officer of the law and as such you are expected – "

Despite his bold demands, his sudden liberation took him by surprise, and he stumbled backward as his feet hit the ground, narrowly catching himself before he could sprawl ignominiously on the floor. With as much dignity as he could muster, he straightened his waistcoat and dusted off his lapels.

"I might have expected as much," he sniffed in disdain.

Harvey raised a brow and glanced back at Dillon, who had turned his back on them and stood with his head slightly bowed, facing the fireplace.

"Washburn," the governor announced with no little amount of satisfaction. "Marshal Dillon has come here to place you under arrest."

Stunned, the lieutenant governor asked, "Me? Under arrest? Why, he's the one on trial! How can he even…"

"You deny that you paid Archer Romans to set up Matt Dillon?"

"Of course! That's absurd."

"My man Fletcher saw the money."

Washburn hesitated just for a moment before he responded, but the governor noticed. "A slacker. He's worthless. Would say anything to get his job back."

"Does the name Chalmer Moggins mean anything to you? Or Mabel Scrivvers?" Harvey asked pointedly.

For the second time, Washburn paled, but managed to recover quickly. "Never heard of `em…"

"They've heard of you." Harvey noted with some concern that Dillon still had not moved.

"So what?" Washburn tried to sound aggressive.

"I think you know."

"A cr-crazy woman. Who'd believe her?" he protested feebly.

"I would," Dillon said abruptly, the words shooting through gritted teeth. His body swung around so that he faced Washburn the way he would a gunslinger. For just a moment, Harvey flinched. Surely, he wouldn't –

"You got nothing on me," Washburn declared, straightening. "The word of a white trash whore? Sister of a murdering bank robber?"

Slowly, Dillon walked forward, taking each step with measured, purposeful movements.

"You," he said with the first step. "Are," he said on the second. "Under," came with the third. The fourth brought him directly in front of Washburn again. "_Arrest."_

"You're crazy," Washburn spat, fear turning to anger at the futility of his predicament. It made him reckless. Who the hell was Matt Dillon to tell him, the lieutenant governor of the state, that he was under arrest? "They should have fired you long ago. What kind of U.S. Marshal are you anyway to take up with a dirty wh…"

The governor started at the whack that resounded off the walls and jumped back just far enough to avoid Washburn's flying body as it hurtled across the room, crashing over chairs and slamming into the heavy oak door. When he looked back at Dillon, he was reminded of why he never wanted to be on the other side of the law from that man. Rage, not quite back under control, shook the tall body as he stood, arm still flung out from the vicious backhand he had landed on Washburn's probably now-broken jaw.

A flurry from outside broke the momentary silence. Two Pinkerton men, hired to protect the governor, forced open the door, inadvertently shoving Washburn's limp form into a table. His head hit the thick pedestal with a thud.

"Are you all right, sir?" a thickly side-burned officer asked, eyes taking in the scene with one thorough glance.

"I'm fine, thanks." Harvey gestured vaguely at the lieutenant governor. "Take him to a doctor, would you?"

Looking from the governor to Matt to Washburn, then back to Matt, the Pinkerton agent pushed the confusion from his expression and nodded, bending to grab the unconscious man's arms and drag him out of the room.

"Oh," Harvey added, almost casually. "When he comes to – place him under arrest."

After they had wrestled Washburn through the door, Harvey turned back to Dillon. The marshal's chest rose and fell in heavy breaths; his jaw was clenched hard, the muscles flexing violently. With visible effort, he raised his eyes to meet the governor's gaze.

"The charges against you will be dropped, of course," Harvey told him.

Dillon gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Matt?" the governor asked cautiously.

But the lawman didn't answer, just reached for the hat he had dropped onto Harvey's settee when he entered the office. Without a word, he started toward the door.

"I'm so very sorry," Harvey offered, knowing it was a miserly payment for what had happened.

Dillon paused at the door. Without turning, he nodded again, settled the hat on his head, and walked out. It was almost ten minutes before Governor Harvey moved to his desk and collapsed into the waiting chair.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**STATE OF CONSPIRACY**

**Part Nine**

Matt Dillon stepped off the train in Dodge bone-weary and worn both physically and emotionally. Addley Washburn's exposure brought no great satisfaction; his arrest and humiliation provided no relief for Kitty from the trauma she had endured, and no assurances that she would be free from future such dangers. Sighing, he forced his back straight, refusing to give in to the pain that had been a constant companion for the past decade. As much abuse as his body had taken through the years, he knew he could only expect it to grow worse with age. He had long ago gotten accustomed to it.

It had been days since he had last been in Dodge, days that had seen him absolved of the bogus charges Washburn had made, days that had revealed the scandalous complicity of the lieutenant governor of Kansas with a low-life bounty hunter and a second-rate madam, days that – he hoped – had brought healing and restoration to the woman he was headed straight to see.

But word had reached town ahead of him, and he found his path to Doc's office crowded with fellow citizens eager to shake his hand and slap him on the back. They professed that they had known all along the whole thing was ridiculous. Casting impatient eyes up the steep stairs, he nodded his thanks even as he pushed closer to his destination.

Just as he reached the bottom step, Ma Smalley squeezed in and gave him a peck on the cheek and quick hug before turning away, her eyes moist. Right behind her, sour Edsel Pry acknowledged him with a lifted brow as she caught his eye. He supposed it was like a rousing cheer from her. Finally, he managed to escape into Doc's office, breathing out hard as he closed the door behind him.

"Well," the physician greeted, letting his gaze run the length of the tall body in a long habit of assessing the lawman's condition. Apparently satisfied, he continued, "I hear you had yourself quite a time up at the state capital. Surprised they didn't just inaugurate you right there on the spot."

The marshal frowned in confusion. "Inaugurate me?"

"As the new lieutenant governor." Nodding toward a neatly folded newspaper on his desk, Adams quoted the headline, "'Marshal Matt Dillon Cracks Corruption Case.' You're the talk of the state, Marshal Matt Dillon."

He could really not have cared less what the paper said, and waved off the doctor's needling. "How is she?" he asked quietly, casting a tentative glance toward the bedroom.

"Not in there."

Matt spun around. "Not?"

A knowing smile touched the old man's lips. "Nope."

Pressing his own lips together, Matt waited a beat until Doc gave in.

"Back at the Long Branch. I let her go a couple of days ago."

Relief rushed through him. "Then she's –"

Doc nodded, his expression showing his own relief. "Going to be just fine," he verified. "Still a little weak, but almost back to her beautiful, feisty self again."

Matt felt his smile threaten to become a full-fledged grin, but didn't care if his feelings were plainly written on his face. Doc knew just about everything anyway.

"Just fine," Doc repeated, and Matt figured it wasn't for only his benefit. "So feisty, in fact, that she might just, uh, need a visit from the law around here. Just so she doesn't stir up – trouble."

Dillon felt his cheeks burn, but kept grinning anyway. "Yeah," he muttered.

**X**

The aches in his back and legs forgotten, Matt paused at the swinging Long Branch doors only long enough to see that Kitty wasn't in the main room. A subtle jerk of the chin from Sam guided him, and he took the stairs two at a time, oblivious to the smiles, both the curious and the knowing, of the saloon's watching patrons.

He pushed through the curtain and knocked on the door – two raps – quietly, in case she was asleep, although he didn't think he could stand to wait one more second to see her. "Kitty?" he called.

It was only a moment before the door flew open. A hand pulled him into the room, arms clutched him around the waist, a body pressed against his. He breathed a sigh of thanks that the body didn't feel nearly as bony or thin as it had a week before.

"Thank God!" Kitty breathed against his chest.

"Kitty." His throat tightened, his heart pounded, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the sweet scent of lilacs. After a few seconds he pushed her back gently to look at her. She had regained some weight, and the frail limbs were fuller, stronger, the angles of her cheeks and jaw smoother and softer, the skin no longer sallow, but healthy and glowing.

He tugged off his hat and flung it onto the hook with a practiced motion, his eyes not moving from hers. "By golly," he managed, pressing back the well of emotion at finding her so much better. "You sure are looking good."

"_Good?"_ she teased, voice warm and low.

"Beautiful," he amended, his own voice husky.

She smiled and reached up to flick a wave of hair that hung over his forehead. "You been rode hard and put up wet again?" she probed.

"Not as hard or wet this time."

Her mouth opened, but she shut it again and pursed her lips for a moment, head tilted saucily. "Sit," she ordered finally, but he got the distinct impression from her impish smirk that she had started to say something else. "I'll get us some brandy."

Reluctantly, he let go of her and obeyed as she retrieved the decanter and two snifters. "I read about what happened in Topeka." She handed him a glass with a generous portion of the amber liquid. "You okay?"

His eyes widened. Was _he_ okay? But he just said, "Sure."

"Matt?"

Tugging her easily onto his lap, he kissed her, letting his lips caress hers as tenderly as he could. "I'm fine," he assured her sincerely when they drew apart.

She arched a suggestive brow and brushed her hand across his chest. "You most certainly are."

"How are you really, Kitty?" he pushed, not taking her bait.

"Don't change the subject." But he held her gaze until she sighed and said, "I'm fine, too."

He watched her closely for another moment, then decided maybe she really was fine. Relaxing, he drank a respectable amount of the liquor, then set it down and bent to nuzzle her neck, pleased with the low groan that told him she wanted his touch.

"Mmmm," Matt murmured, his lips brushing an especially sensitive spot behind Kitty's right ear, "I was right."

Kitty snuggled closer but made no comment as his mouth began a slow trail down her neck. When he reached her shoulder, he stopped his ministrations long enough to continue his musings. "Yep, nothing offered in Topeka could hold a candle to what's been waiting for me right here in Dodge."

She stirred in his arms. "What are you talking about?"

"Topeka. Let's see...her name was Sally – " He kissed the warm flesh on the inside of her elbow.

This time he got her attention. "You went to Blue Heaven?"

His broad shoulders bulged as he shrugged. "No choice. Mitchell took me there. I _was_ kind of in his custody, you know." He finished with a lop-sided grin.

"So, you're telling me," she said, pushing back from his body just enough to watch his face, "that you and Ty Mitchell spent the night at Sally Hansbury's."

"Well…not exactly." He reached out and cupped one large hand over one soft breast.

"Distraction' s not gonna work." She pushed his hand away. "Tell me everything that happened."

"We talked to a few folks, had a nice lunch with the proprietress, Ty left, and…" He pursed his lips for a moment, then grinned.

"And then I went to bed." At her raised brow, his playfulness faltered slightly. "Nothing happened, Kitty. You know –"

She allowed her own smile to break through. "Of course I know, Matt."

"Hey," he teased, playful again. "You saying no sweet young thing would be interested in an aging lawman with bum knees and a bad back? I'll have you know even the famous Sally Hansbury said if she didn't know better she'd be happy to, uh, entertain me herself."

Kitty snorted. "Sweet young thing? Sally Hansbury's my age if she's a day, and she better keep her hands off of you if she expects to get any older." Her tone was light, but he had a feeling there was a definite seriousness behind her words.

"Yeah, she said that, too."

"She did?"

"Uh huh. Said she's not interested in having Kitty Russell as an enemy."

"Smart woman." Kitty nestled against him. "Enough about Sally Hansbury." Her hand slid inside his shirt to play over the hard muscles of his stomach. "Now, why don't we just create our own kind of heaven right here in Dodge?"

"You figure that's legal?" he asked, even though his voice didn't sound as if he cared much if it was legal or not.

"Well," Kitty said, "I promised Festus that I would, uh, make sure you remained in my…_custody_."

"Festus? Kitty, what are you talking about?"

"Sheriff Mitchell sent Festus a telegram after you left Topeka. Since Festus can't…well, I read it to him. Seems you're supposed to be in the custody of someone here in Dodge until the papers come dismissing the charges."

Matt frowned and shook his head. "Kitty, that was just protocol. The governor's already dropped those charges. He didn't really mean –"

"Letter of the law, Marshal Dillon," she reminded coyly.

"But you're not a –"

"Festus deputized me this morning."

His lips pressed together for a moment before he claimed, "You're kidding."

"If I'm lying, I'm –"

"He made _you_ a deputy."

"He did. And I promised to keep a _close_ watch on you," she purred.

Instantly, his demeanor changed. "You did, did you?"

"Umm hmmm." Her fingers began working the buttons on his shirt. "Or would you rather I go get Festus right now and turn you over to him?"

His pants tightened as her touch moved lower, unveiling his chest and stomach. "Oh, no, uh, _Deputy _Russell. I'll surrender to you."

Her voice low and throaty, she assured him, "You certainly will."

He caught his breath at the heat in her tone, unable and unwilling to suppress the yearning in his eyes. "Is that a fact?" he murmured huskily.

"That's a fact."

Groin pounding in time with his heart, he swallowed and asked, "How do you plan to…keep me in custody?"

She patted his chest and dug her hands into one pocket of his vest, smiling sensuously at the shock and desire that washed over his face as he stared at the pair of handcuffs dangling from her fingers.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**STATE OF CONSPIRACY**

**Part 10**

**EPILOGUE**

Morning peeked through the curtains of Kitty's room, slanting soft light over the bed quilt, bunched, and twisted, and strewn haphazardly across the two entwined bodies. The furious activity of the night had given way to exhausted satisfaction. Clothes lay scattered over a chair back, under a table. And a pair of hand cuffs still hung, now unoccupied, from the iron rungs of the bedstead.

Kitty Russell stretched with delicious laziness, reveling in the memory of the complete abandon she had experienced during those glorious hours. She had no doubt of Matt's enjoyment, as well. In fact, enjoyment might have been an understatement considering his…reactions. Now, though, he was docile and relaxed, his face losing some of the tension and burden he had carried these several weeks. Smiling, she snuggled against his hard body, running her hand from the center of his chest down his torso, pulling in a deep breath as she remembered the wild night.

_It had been almost an hour after she first taunted him that Kitty sat back to catch her breath, her body burning with desire at the sight before her. The long, hard, body of her U.S. Marshal lay bare and spread-eagle on her bed, wrists cuffed to the rungs by his own irons, sweat shining on his flexing muscles, head thrown back in agonized pleasure, the cords of his neck straining, desperate for her tauntingly elusive caress._

_It took all her will power not to give in right then, but he was in her custody tonight, and she had sworn to take care of him. And take care of him she had been doing, teasing and taunting and torturing right to the edge before she refused him satisfaction again and again. But the strain on her own control had taken her to that edge with him, and now she once again leaned over him, lingering on his strong thighs and just below his navel. His hips rose from the bed hungrily, trying to find her, but she pulled back. His groan was agonized, desperate, and utterly enjoyable._

_The handcuffs clanged against the bed rungs as he tried to pull his hands down, and his frustrated growl sent a stab of desire through her. "Kitty!" he pleaded._

_"Since you've cooperated with your jailer," she allowed, her own voice heavy with arousal, "I'm willing to – pardon you –"_

_Trembling, she crawled back up his body and joined them. The irons banged again loudly as he yanked at them._

_"Kitty, please! I can't –"_

_She heard him moan as he wrapped long fingers around the iron bars of the bedstead and met her wild thrusts. They hadn't been this out of control in a long time, but she couldn't have stopped even if she had wanted to - and she sure as hell didn't want to. She urged him on with her voice, her hands, her body, the eruption building until she couldn't hold it off any longer._

_"Matt!" she screamed, clawing at him in helpless convulsions of pleasure._

_Some unintelligible sound tore from his throat when he reached his peak. Prying open her eyes, she watched him through her own red whirl of ecstasy as his neck arched, the muscles of his arms tight and bulging._

_When the frenzy finally released them, he collapsed, the cuffs clanking as his arms dropped to the bed. Her hands shook as she stroked up and down his sides, letting her head rest on his chest, both of them gasping for breath after the incredible intensity. They lay there several minutes, their bodies glistening in the light cast by the gas lamp._

Her body tingled and surged again with the memory, drawing a groan from her throat.

"Kitty?" Matt's voice was gentle, concerned. "You okay?"

Laughing, she kissed his chest. "Oh, yes. Yes, indeed." She heard the touch of male pride in his answering laugh.

"Matt?" she whispered lazily, her gentle voice marked contrast to the fury of the previous night.

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Umm hmm."

"The other day Doc and I were talking about the trial –"

Matt sighed and ran a hand through his scattered hair. "It's over, Kitty," he said abruptly, then softened his voice. "No need to go back."

She ignored him. "You gonna tell me what Judge Brooker said?"

A long pause preceded his response. "About what?"

"You know about what."

"I told you –"

"— he said you do okay. I know that," she said, then pushed, "What else?"

He squirmed beneath her. Her stare bore right through him until he sighed and shook his head.

"All right. He said – well, he said that – uh, he just said that –"

"That Matt Dillon was not only the finest lawman he had ever seen but the finest _man _and that the entire scheme was the most ridiculous miscarriage of justice he had ever witnessed and that it was a sorry day when men like Marshal Dillon were targets of conniving, crooked low-lifes." Kitty smiled proudly at him, having read the account so many times she knew it by heart and was still awed by the judge's bold statement.

Matt's cheeks flushed as she repeated Brooker's lavish, unsolicited praise with clear pride in her voice. "Well, why did you ask if you already knew?" he scolded, unable to cover the rough emotion in his tone.

"Just wanted to hear it again. And I wanted you to hear it."

"Kitty, I –"

She shook her head and pressed an index finger against his lips. "I not only wanted you to hear it, Matt. I want you to believe it, all of it. And I want you to know you're the finest man _I've_ ever known, too – the very finest."

Even though he shifted uncomfortably, Kitty read the modest acknowledgment in his eyes. He cleared his throat and announced, "I, uh, guess I better do my rounds."

As he tensed to rise, her hand pressed him back. "Nope. Remember, until the official paperwork comes through, you're still in my custody, which means you can't resume your duties."

"But Festus might need – "

"Festus needs nothing. And don't try Newly, either. He knows all about –"

"About what?" His eyes narrowed. "Kitty, this almost sounds like another conspiracy to me."

But her beatific smile was enough to derail his touch of ire. "Maybe this one you'll like better than the last one."

"Well…"

"It's going to be a beautiful day, so I sentence you to spend it at Spring Creek. Just you, me – and our imaginations. "

Cocking his jaw slightly, he contemplated her edict. After a moment, he drew in a deep breath and slid down farther into the bed, pulling her with him. "Yes, ma'am, Deputy Russell," he acquiesced, voice husky again. "I'll cooperate fully."

**The End**

**NOTE: Thanks to those of you who asked for this story to be posted here. I enjoyed re-visiting it myself, and I hope the readers have enjoyed it, too. And, as always, many, many thanks to those of you who have been reading and commenting along the way. **


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